ENCOUNTER

There are two versions of me.

The one people see quiet, polite, responsible.

And the one I keep locked inside. The version that aches to scream, to run, to feel something more than this suffocating numbness.

I’ve spent most of my life being what everyone expected.

The good daughter. The obedient sister. The girl who doesn’t cause problems.

But the truth?

I am a problem.

I just haven’t exploded yet.

Noah, my brother, who is seven years older than me carries the weight of our family like it’s his punishment.

He’s strict, protective in a way that sometimes feels more like a prison than love.

I know he means well. But I’m not a little girl anymore.

I don’t know how to tell him that.

Or maybe I do, but I’m just too scared to say it out loud.

Most nights, I stay up reading.

Books are my only escape.

I like the ones where girls get chosen. Loved. Fought for.

Sometimes, I imagine what it would feel like to be the kind of girl people lose control over.

The kind of girl men write songs about.

The kind of girl who doesn’t get forgotten.

But I’m not that girl.

I’m the quiet one.

The background character in everyone else’s story.

School was easy. Too easy. I graduated early and now spend my days helping Noah at the shop, folding laundry, making dinner. My parents were out of the country, which was why I was staying with Noah at his place.

I don’t complain. That would be ungrateful.

Noah informed me that he was going to be out of town for the weekend.

I was excited.

Not because I’d miss him, Gosh! no. But because I’d finally get a few days to breathe.

I had only one friend, Agatha who Noah hated because she worked as a waitress at a bar. I didn’t care, she was still my friend. I texted her to inform her that I was coming. As soon as Noah left, I got ready and left the house as well.

As I arrived at the bar, I instantly regretted it.

This was exactly the kind of situation I avoided men. Loud, cocky, half-drunk men who stared too long and talked too close.

And there were so many of them here.

What had I expected?

It was 8:30 p.m. on a Friday night.

Of course, the bar was full.

Of course, I was out of place.

Noah would kill me if he found out that I was here.

Still, I was bored at home and couldn’t bring myself to say no when Agatha practically begged me to come and keep her company before I died of boredom.

So I came.

Not because I liked bars.

Not because I liked people.

And definitely not because I liked men.

I didn’t hate them.

They just made me… uncomfortable.

Too aware of myself. Of my body. Of how fragile I looked when someone stared too hard.

I paid the cab driver and stepped out into the loud bar.

Luckily, Agatha was outside talking to some customers, so I sat near the entrance and waited for her to finish.

A middle-aged man approached and asked if he could sit next to me.

“Of course,” I replied with a polite smile. Calm, and careful trying not to sound cold or rude.

He didn’t seem interested in me, thank goodness.

We talked a little. Nothing deep. Just enough to make me feel a bit less like I didn’t belong.

But even as we spoke, something felt off.

My skin prickled. Like I was being watched.

I shifted slightly and looked around

That’s when I saw him.

Sitting a few tables away with a group of friends.

Tall. Dark. Not laughing like the others, just watching me.

His eyes met mine and didn’t flinch.

He was hot.

Undeniably so.

Exactly the kind of guy I always told myself to avoid.

Sharp jawline, effortless confidence, probably used to girls throwing themselves at him.

Definitely not the type to notice someone like me.

Definitely not the type to be safe around. Everything about him screamed, red flag.

And for some stupid reason, my chest tightened.

He looked like a fuckboy. A badass player. A walking red flag.

I rolled my eyes and turned away, pretending to stay engaged in the middle-aged man’s conversation but I could still feel his gaze on me, heavy and unrelenting. I tried to ignore it. I really did.

Eventually, the older man got up and left. I walked over to where Agatha was now chatting with him.

She was laughing about drinks with the guy who’d been staring at me like I was his next game.

“Here, take this,” Agatha said, handing me a glass.

I eyed it warily. “Hmm… I’m not interested. You know I don’t drink.”

“We were just arguing about what it tastes like,” the guy said, casually confident. “Try it and settle the score.”

I sighed. “Fine. Just one sip.”

The second the liquid hit my tongue, I gagged and spat it out. “Ugh! it tastes like spirit,” I said, scrunching my nose.

Agatha burst out laughing, and so did he.

“How would you know what spirit tastes like?” he teased. “You must’ve tried it before.”

“Not really,” I said with a small, nervous smile, trying to mask how uncomfortable I was around him.

The moment was short, but something about his tone… his eyes… made me want to leave.

“I think it’s time for me to go. It’s getting late,” I told Agatha.

She immediately caught on. “Be safe,” she said, squeezing my hand gently. “I’ll call you once I’m off.”

I nodded and turned to walk away.

“Do you mind if I walk you down? Just until you get a cab,” the guy asked behind me.

“If you want to,” I said, not bothering to look back.

We walked down the quiet street together. The city felt different at night still and quiet.

“I’m Ian,” he said.

“I’m Evelyn. But everyone calls me Eve,” I answered flatly.

“Nice. You’re new around here?”

“Obviously,” I muttered, not wanting to give too much information.

He chuckled like I was being cute. “Cool. Look, I don’t want to keep you, I left my phone back at the bar, but I’d like to keep in touch. Mind if I give you my number?”

“That’s okay,” I said, handing him my phone.

While he typed in his contact, I took a moment to check him out.

He was hot. No doubt.

Tall, muscular, and the way he walked, like the world owed him something and he was coming to collect it.

He looked a few years older than me, four, maybe five. But I didn’t care. I had a thing for older guys, they knew exactly what they were doing.

I smiled to myself, then quickly looked away when he handed my phone back.

“Here,” he said. “Text me when you get home. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” I replied, slipping into the cab that had just pulled up.

Before I could protest, he leaned down and paid the driver himself.

“Make sure she gets home safe,” he said, then winked at me.

I closed the door without another word.

And as the cab drove off, I caught myself smiling.