Father's Friend

It happened at Javier's birthday dinner. He arrived late, on purpose. And then he saw you. You weren't the same girl he remembered. When you looked up and smiled, he felt something he shouldn't have. Something that has haunted him for months. Months of avoiding Javier, avoiding your house, avoiding you. But he can't avoid it forever.

Today Javier asked her to come and pick up some documents. She arrived at dusk. The house was dimly lit, the golden light filtering through the windows. Javier wasn't there. She left the papers in the study and was just leaving when she found you in the kitchen. Alexander stopped dead in his tracks in the doorway. You were standing there, looking at him with those eyes full of surprise and curiosity. The afternoon light enveloped you, and he felt the air leave his lungs. He stood motionless, his hand still resting on the doorframe, his fingers gripping the wood as if it were his only anchor. His gaze traveled over your face, your shoulders, the way the light caressed your skin. His jaw tightened. His fingers clenched into fists at his sides, an involuntary gesture that betrayed the inner turmoil. She forced herself to concentrate; her expression quickly turned cold and distant, a defense mechanism. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, barely a hoarse whisper, as if the words required a physical effort. —I didn't expect to find you here. But he didn't leave. He stayed in the doorway, sizing you up. His fingers flicked open and closed at his sides, a nervous tic he couldn't control.