Whispers

Busy Hearts

The next day, she paced her hotel room, her heart racing as she stared at Cillian's number on her phone. The memory of their time together—the laughter, the chemistry—filled her with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. Taking a deep breath, she dialed his number, hoping to continue the connection they had begun.

When he answered, his voice was warm, but there was a subtle change in his tone. "Hey! It's great to hear from you," he said, but something felt off. The usual enthusiasm was muted, almost distant.

"Hi, Cillian! I just wanted to check in and see how you're doing," she replied, trying to match his energy.

"Yeah, I'm good. Busy with some things," he said, a hint of distraction in his voice. She could hear the sounds of a bustling environment in the background—voices, laughter, and clinking glasses. It felt like he was somewhere lively, yet he was miles away.

"Oh, I didn't realize," she said, feeling a pang of disappointment. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"No, it's fine. I just have some commitments I need to attend to," he replied, his tone shifting slightly. "But I'm glad you called."

A knot formed in her stomach as she sensed a barrier that hadn't been there before. His earlier warmth seemed overshadowed by a coolness she couldn't quite place. She hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. Was he really as interested as he had seemed? Or was this a façade that would ultimately lead to disappointment?

"Maybe we can catch up later?" she suggested, her voice wavering slightly. "When you're free?"

"Yeah, definitely," he replied, but the lack of conviction in his words made her doubt.

After hanging up, she sat on the edge of the bed, her mind racing. She couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. Was he truly busy, or was he pulling away? The uncertainty gnawed at her, making her question whether she wanted to pursue this connection any further.

What if he wasn't who he appeared to be? The excitement of their first meeting began to feel like a distant memory, overshadowed by the possibility of disappointment. She took a deep breath, trying to push away her doubts, but the lingering questions remained.

Deciding she needed a change of scenery, she slipped into a casual outfit and headed out. She wanted to have some fun, to reclaim her sense of adventure. The city buzzed around her as she wandered into a lively bar, the atmosphere vibrant with laughter and music.

As she settled at the bar, sipping her drink, a man approached her. He had an air of confidence, but something felt off about him. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, and his comments began to make her uneasy.

"Hey there, you're way too pretty to be sitting here alone," he said, leaning closer. "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

She forced a smile, trying to brush off the discomfort. "Just enjoying the evening."

"Why don't you let me buy you a drink? I promise I can make it more interesting," he said, his tone laced with an undertone that made her skin crawl.

"Thanks, but I'm good," she replied, her voice firm. He didn't touch her, but the way he leaned in felt invasive.

Just then, she caught a glimpse of familiar dark hair across the room. Her heart sank as she saw Cillian talking animatedly with a woman. They appeared to be sharing a laugh, their chemistry apparent even from a distance. A wave of embarrassment washed over her. She felt a little stupid for believing he genuinely cared about her and wanted to get to know her.

As she turned away, feeling a mix of frustration and disappointment, Cillian suddenly looked her way. His expression shifted from surprise to recognition as their eyes met. But before he could approach her, she quickly turned back to the bar, her heart pounding. She didn't want to deal with the reality of seeing him with someone else.

Feeling overwhelmed, she decided it was best to leave. She slipped out of the bar and made her way back to her hotel, the cool night air doing little to ease her thoughts. The earlier excitement of the day was gone, replaced by uncertainty and a lingering sense of rejection. As she entered her room, she closed the door behind her, determined to focus on herself rather than the fleeting connections that seemed to slip through her fingers.

---

Later that night, around ten-thirty, she was jolted from her thoughts by the ringing of her hotel phone. Groggy and still caught up in the day's events, she answered, half-expecting it to be another mundane inquiry from the front desk.

"Good evening, miss," the receptionist said. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but there's someone here to see you."

Her heart raced, and she immediately had an inkling of who it could be. No one else knew her in Birmingham. "Who is it?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

"It's Cillian Murphy," the receptionist replied.

Her pulse quickened as she hung up the phone, a mix of excitement and anxiety flooding her senses. She quickly got out of bed, glancing in the mirror at her reflection. Dressed in comfortable clothes—an oversized sweatshirt and leggings—she felt a wave of self-consciousness. But she had little time to change, so she ran a brush through her hair and stepped out into the hallway.

As she approached the entry hall, she spotted him leaning casually against the wall, the soft glow of the lobby lights illuminating his features. Cillian looked up, and a smile broke across his face that made her heart flutter.

"Hey," he said, his voice warm and inviting.

"Hi," she replied, trying to contain her nerves. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you," he said simply, his eyes searching hers.

They stepped outside into the cool night air, and she noticed he pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a practiced ease. As he took a drag, she watched the smoke curl into the night sky. For a moment, they stood in comfortable silence, the energy between them palpable.

Finally, he turned to her, the cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers. "About earlier... the woman I was with," he began, his tone serious.

Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself to listen. "She's an artist. I was looking at her work for a gallery I'm involved with. I really liked her paintings," he explained, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"Oh," she replied, trying to mask her disappointment. "So you were just... working?"

"Exactly. I didn't mean for it to look like anything else," he said, his gaze steady. "I wouldn't want you to think otherwise."

His reassurance washed over her like a balm, but doubt lingered in the back of her mind. Did he really care, or was he simply being polite? She wanted to believe him, to trust that there was something genuine between them.

"Thanks for explaining," she said quietly, her heart fluttering with hope. "I guess I just assumed—"

"I know," he interrupted gently. "But I want you to know that you're the one I wanted to see tonight."

She felt a warmth spread through her, the weight of his words grounding her in the moment. The uncertainty that had clouded her thoughts began to lift. "I'm glad you came."

Cillian smiled, and for the first time that evening, she felt a sense of clarity. Maybe there was something real here, a connection worth exploring. As they stood together under the night sky, she realized that despite her initial hesitations, she wanted to take the chance on him.

"Let's get to know each other better," he said, leaning closer, and she nodded, the thrill of possibility igniting a spark of excitement within her.