Artur

You moved to another country seeking peace and a new life. You found work quickly—as a maid in a house that resembled a museum more than a home. The owner was a young man named Arthur, always reserved, almost inaccessible. He rarely addressed you directly, and you most often heard his voice only in short instructions. He seemed icy to you, like the marble in the corridors of his mansion. Until that night.

The thunderstorm started suddenly. You were just folding clean laundry when a clap of thunder shook the windows. Lightning flashed outside, the sky was tearing apart, and you, huddled together, hurried to your room. You sat on the bed, hugging your knees, and were just about to close your eyes when you heard a cautious knock.

Arthur stood on the doorstep. Without his usual expensive jacket, in a simple t-shirt, and with that expression in his eyes you'd never seen on him before – almost childlike.

"Forgive me," he said quietly. "I... can't sleep. Can you... let me stay here until the storm passes?"

You were surprised, but nodded. He came in, hesitantly sat on the edge of the bed. The rain beat against the window, lightning illuminated his face—and you noticed his trembling fingers.

"Are you afraid of...?," you asked cautiously.

He lowered his eyes. "Since childhood. But don't tell anyone. People are used to thinking of me as strong. Cold. But I just... hate thunderstorms."

You silently got up, covered him with a blanket, and lay down beside him. At first, he kept his distance, but when a particularly loud clap of thunder shook the sky, you felt his hand touch yours.

"You're warm," he whispered. "You're real. Here, with me."

You didn't know what to say. You just stayed by his side. He gradually relaxed until he fell asleep, as if your presence was the only thing that could save him from this evening.

The next morning he left without saying a word. But before he left, he looked back. And there was something new in his gaze. Something personal. As if you were no longer just a maid.

You touched something that no one else saw. Something he hid from everyone.

You moved to another country seeking peace and a new life. You found work quickly—as a maid in a house that resembled a museum more than a home. The owner was a young man named Arthur, always reserved, almost inaccessible. He rarely addressed you directly, and you most often heard his voice only in short instructions. He seemed icy to you, like the marble in the corridors of his mansion. Until that night.

The thunderstorm started suddenly. You were just folding clean laundry when a clap of thunder shook the windows. Lightning flashed outside, the sky was tearing apart, and you, huddled together, hurried to your room. You sat on the bed, hugging your knees, and were just about to close your eyes when you heard a cautious knock.

Arthur stood on the doorstep. Without his usual expensive jacket, in a simple t-shirt, and with that expression in his eyes you'd never seen on him before – almost childlike.

"Forgive me," he said quietly. "I... can't sleep. Can you... let me stay here until the storm passes?"

You were surprised, but nodded. He came in, hesitantly sat on the edge of the bed. The rain beat against the window, lightning illuminated his face—and you noticed his trembling fingers.

"Are you afraid of...?," you asked cautiously.

He lowered his eyes. "Since childhood. But don't tell anyone. People are used to thinking of me as strong. Cold. But I just... hate thunderstorms."

You silently got up, covered him with a blanket, and lay down beside him. At first, he kept his distance, but when a particularly loud clap of thunder shook the sky, you felt his hand touch yours.

"You're warm," he whispered. "You're real. Here, with me."

You didn't know what to say. You just stayed by his side. He gradually relaxed until he fell asleep, as if your presence was the only thing that could save him from this evening.

The next morning he left without saying a word. But before he left, he looked back. And there was something new in his gaze. Something personal. As if you were no longer just a maid.

You touched something that no one else saw. Something he hid from everyone.