The quiet of the evening settled over Hetri's house, the golden hues of the sunset casting long shadows across the walls. Aidi sat by the window in the small living room, her legs curled up beneath her. The blanket draped around her shoulders did little to soothe the chill that seemed to come from within. She watched the fading light, her thoughts as turbulent as the stormy clouds in the distance.
Hetri was in the adjacent room, murmuring something to the doctor who had come to check on her earlier. She had overheard parts of their conversation—something about her still needing to take it easy. It annoyed her how much Hetri seemed to care. It made her feel weak, vulnerable. But there was a part of her, buried deep, that couldn't ignore the warmth his efforts brought.
The door creaked open, and Hetri stepped into the room. He looked different in the low light—less intimidating, more human. His gaze landed on her, and for a moment, he just stood there, as if unsure whether to speak.
"Still sulking by the window?" he asked, his voice light, though his eyes held a shadow of concern.
Aidi didn't look at him. "I'm not sulking. I'm thinking."
"That's dangerous," he quipped, taking a seat on the couch across from her. "What's on your mind?"
She shrugged, pulling the blanket tighter around her. "Nothing that concerns you."
Hetri leaned back, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles. "You know, for someone who hates me, you sure spend a lot of time talking to me."
Aidi shot him a glare, though there was no real venom behind it. "Don't flatter yourself. You're just... the only option."
"Ouch," Hetri said, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense. "You really know how to wound a man."
"Good," she muttered, though her lips twitched, betraying a flicker of amusement.
The room fell into a brief silence, filled only by the distant hum of crickets outside. Hetri's gaze lingered on her, and Aidi felt the weight of it. She turned to face him fully, her brow furrowed. "Why are you staring at me?"
"You're different," he said simply, his tone uncharacteristically soft.
She blinked, caught off guard. "Different how?"
Hetri tilted his head, studying her. "When I first brought you here, you were all fire and fury. Now... there's something else. You're still stubborn, still fiery, but there's a softness to you. Like you're starting to see things for what they really are."
Aidi's heart skipped a beat, though she quickly masked it with a scoff. "Don't start thinking you know me, Hetri. You don't."
"Maybe not," he admitted. "But I'd like to."
The sincerity in his voice threw her off balance. She opened her mouth to retort, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she turned back to the window, staring out at the darkening sky.
"You're wasting your time," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Hetri didn't respond right away. When he spoke, his tone was gentle but firm. "I don't think I am."
---
The next morning, Aidi woke to the sound of rain pattering against the roof. She stayed in bed for a while, letting the steady rhythm soothe her. It was one of those rare moments where she felt at peace, even if only for a fleeting second.
When she finally got up, she found Hetri in the kitchen again, this time preparing what smelled like tea. He glanced up as she entered, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"You're up early," he remarked, pouring the tea into two cups.
"I couldn't sleep," she lied, taking a seat at the table.
He placed a cup in front of her, then sat across from her, cradling his own. The steam curled upward, carrying the faint scent of herbs. Aidi took a tentative sip, surprised by how soothing it was.
"You should rest more," Hetri said after a moment, his eyes on her.
Aidi rolled her eyes. "Stop acting like you care."
"What if I do?" he asked, his voice calm but with a hint of challenge.
She set her cup down a little too hard, the ceramic clinking against the table. "Why? Why do you care? You've done nothing but ruin my life, and now you want me to believe you're some kind of savior?"
Hetri didn't flinch at her outburst. Instead, he leaned forward, his gaze steady. "I've made mistakes, Aidi. I've done things I'm not proud of. But that doesn't mean I want to see you hurt."
"You don't get to say that," she snapped, her voice trembling with anger. "You don't get to act like the hero now."
"I'm not trying to be a hero," he said softly. "I'm just trying to make things right."
Aidi stared at him, her chest heaving. She wanted to lash out, to scream at him, to hate him with every fiber of her being. But there was a crack in her armor now, one she couldn't ignore.
The rain outside grew heavier, the sound filling the silence between them. Aidi's hands tightened into fists, her nails digging into her palms. "You can't fix this, Hetri. You can't fix me."
"I'm not trying to fix you," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "I just... I want you to know that you're not alone."
The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. Aidi looked away, her throat tightening. She hated how his words made her feel, how they stirred something inside her that she wasn't ready to face.
"I don't need you," she said, her voice cracking.
Hetri didn't argue. He simply nodded, as if he understood. And maybe he did.
---
That evening, Aidi found herself in the garden again, the rain reduced to a gentle drizzle. The air was cool and fresh, the scent of wet earth filling her lungs. She sat on the same bench as before, her thoughts a tangled mess.
Hetri appeared beside her, holding an umbrella. He didn't say anything, just stood there, shielding her from the rain.
"I don't need your pity," she said after a while, her voice sharp.
"It's not pity," he replied. "It's... respect."
Aidi turned to look at him, searching his face for any sign of mockery. But his expression was sincere, his gaze steady. It unnerved her, how genuine he seemed.
"You're confusing," she muttered, pulling her knees to her chest.
"So are you," Hetri said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
For the first time, Aidi didn't argue. She just sat there, letting the rain fall around them, the warmth of his presence both comforting and infuriating. And though her hatred for him still lingered, it wavered, just a little. Enough to make her wonder if there was more to Hetri than she had allowed herself to see.