Shadows that follow

The scent of jasmine lingered long after Lila left the café, as though the air itself was reluctant to let her go. Elias sat perfectly still, hands resting lightly on the smooth wooden surface of the table, his senses extended outward like ripples on a pond. The world outside moved in its steady rhythm, cars rolled over damp asphalt, a bicycle bell chimed distantly, and the wind carried the faint tang of rain-soaked concrete. But none of it mattered. His mind was still wrapped around the tremor in her voice, the unsteady beat of her heart, and the questions she had left behind. He didn’t need sight to know fear when it stood this close. Fear had a bitter taste, sharp at the edges, leaving an aftertaste of things unsaid. And Lila wore it like an invisible cloak, woven tightly around her every movement. But it wasn’t fear of him. No, that would have been easy to dismiss. This was something deeper, something older.

Elias leaned back in his chair, letting the tension drain from his shoulders. There was a pattern to human behavior, and hers didn’t align with mere anxiety. She had returned twice and sat close enough for him to hear the tremble in her breath. People didn’t seek proximity to what frightened them unless they were desperate for something: protection, understanding, or perhaps a sense of control over their fear. And she didn’t strike him as the type to surrender control easily. The bell above the café door jingled, snapping him back into the present. Familiar footsteps approached Jonah, carrying a fresh cup of coffee with the careful precision of someone who knew Elias’s habits better than most. “You’re quiet today,” Jonah observed, setting the cup down with a soft clink. “Even for you.” “Observant as always,” Elias murmured, reaching out to cradle the warmth of the cup in his hands. “You’ve been coming here for years, man. I can tell when something’s bothering you.” Elias allowed a small smile to touch the corner of his lips. “Have you ever noticed a woman sitting nearby the last few mornings? Jasmine and sandalwood, soft voice.” Jonah was silent for a moment, his hesitation was filled with curiosity. “Yeah, I think I know who you’re talking about. She’s been in a few times lately, always looks like she’s about to bolt. Nervous energy, you know?” “I noticed.” Elias took a slow sip of the coffee, letting the bitterness ground him. “You know her name?” “Nah, never asked. Didn’t seem like she wanted to talk. Why? You think something’s wrong?” Elias didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let the question hang in the air, tasting its implications. Something was wrong he could feel it in the way her heartbeat staggered, the way her voice folded under the weight of something unspoken. “Maybe,” Elias said finally, setting the cup down with deliberate care. “Or maybe she’s just running from something she can’t leave behind.” The rain began as a whisper against the glass, soft and persistent. Outside, the world blurred into streaks of gray and silver, but for Elias, the world was clearer than ever. Patterns of sound mapped themselves across his senses, the rhythm of footsteps on wet pavement, the rush of tires slicing through puddles, the low murmur of voices muffled by the weather. But beneath all of it was a question he couldn’t shake: What was Lila afraid of?

That night, sleep evaded him.

Lying in the stillness of his apartment, Elias let his senses stretch beyond the walls, following the familiar patterns of the city’s nocturnal pulse. The distant wail of sirens echoed off brick and steel, a sharp reminder that fear was never far from anyone in this city. He focused instead on the small sounds the hum of his refrigerator, the steady ticking of the clock on the wall, the soft creak of the old floorboards expanding in the cool night air. But beneath those familiar noises was the memory of her voice, fractured and fragile, like glass held together by willpower alone. He replayed every detail from their brief conversations, cataloging the subtle shifts in her tone, the tiny pauses between her words, the way her breath hitched at seemingly innocuous questions. Lila was hiding something. Not from him specifically, but from the world and maybe from herself.

The next morning, the rain had stopped, leaving behind a city slick with reflections and the scent of wet stone. Elias arrived at the café earlier than usual, drawn by a pull he couldn’t quite explain. He settled into his usual spot by the window, listening to the city’s heartbeat as it slowly found its rhythm again. The door chimed once, twice customers came and went, their voices blending into the background hum of daily life. And then, just past the hour mark, she arrived. He felt her before he heard her an unsteady ripple in the air, the faint scent of jasmine threading through the room like a signal only he could perceive. Her footsteps were slower today, heavier, as if she carried the weight of something that had grown overnight. She didn’t go straight to the counter. Instead, she hesitated, her breath catching for a heartbeat too long before finally stepping forward to place her order. “The usual,” she said quietly, voice thick with exhaustion. Elias didn’t speak immediately, letting her settle into the chair nearest his. She sat without prompting, the scrape of the chair legs unusually loud in the quiet morning. “Rough night?” His voice was low, inviting but nonintrusive. She startled slightly, not expecting him to speak first. “You could say that,” she replied, her words wrapped tightly in exhaustion. “You don’t strike me as someone who scares easily,” Elias observed, turning his head slightly toward her. “But you’re afraid.” A long silence followed, thick and heavy. Her heartbeat fluttered, then steadied, as if she were forcing herself to maintain control. “How do you” She cut herself off, shaking her head as though the question was foolish. “You’re right,” she admitted quietly. “I am afraid.” “Of what?” Another silence, but this time, it wasn’t from hesitation it was from indecision. He could almost feel her weighing the risk of speaking the truth aloud. “Someone’s following me,” she said finally, her voice barely more than a whisper. Elias didn’t react outwardly, but inside, every instinct sharpened to a fine edge. “How long?” “A few weeks,” she admitted, her voice cracking under the strain of the confession. “I thought it was just… paranoia. But it’s getting worse.” “You’re sure?” She nodded, the sound of her breath quickening. “I can feel it. Every time I turn a corner, every shadow feels like it’s waiting. I can’t sleep. I can’t focus. It’s like I’m… drowning in it.” Elias considered her words carefully, parsing the fear woven into each syllable. This wasn’t someone succumbing to irrational anxiety this was real. Too real. And whoever was following her wasn’t just scaring her they were methodically breaking her down. “Have you gone to the police?” “They don’t believe me,” she said, frustration bleeding through the fear. “No proof, no threats. Just… a feeling. And feelings don’t hold up in reports.” “But they’re real,” Elias murmured. “Real enough to keep you awake at night.” Her silence was answer enough. Elias leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “I can help you, Lila.” She hesitated, uncertainty flickering across her features. “Why would you help me? You don’t even know me.” “I don’t need to know you to recognize fear,” Elias replied evenly. “And I’ve learned that sometimes, the people who are least willing to ask for help are the ones who need it most.” Another pause, but this time, her heartbeat didn’t quicken; it slowed, steadied, as if the weight of her secret had lessened, if only slightly. “I don’t know if I can trust you,” she admitted, voice low. “You don’t have to,” Elias said, rising from his seat. “But if you’re being followed, sooner or later, whoever it is will make a mistake. And when they do, I’ll be listening.” He didn’t wait for a response. The door chimed softly behind him as he stepped into the morning light, leaving her alone with the echoes of her fear and the knowledge that she wasn’t entirely alone anymore.