REKINDLED || Completed

10

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Ten
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Oren Knew.

It wasn’t arrogance. It wasn’t even intuition.

He just knew Asher was different.

Her grey eyes told him so—stormy, unreadable, yet brimming with something she barely contained. Emotions woven into the very fabric of her stare, whispering stories he wanted to understand.

Strange.

When he first played, he wasn’t searching for her gaze. But when he found it, something in him recognized something in her.

And then she just sat there.

Still. Silent. Captive.

It felt like his words were slicing through the thick layers she had wrapped around herself—piercing through bone and marrow, waking something dormant inside her. Stirring dust in long-abandoned corners of her heart.

That was the thing about him. About his music.

People said it felt divine.

Oren never knew if he believed that, but if it meant moments like this—where the air tightened, where time folded in on itself, where a stranger could feel like an old story he had yet to finish reading—maybe, just maybe, it was true.

The room caged them both, and by the way she remained transfixed, he could tell she felt it too. She was taking it in. Absorbing the song like a prayer, letting it settle into the spaces where words had failed her.

Maybe he should have looked away.

But he didn’t.

Because Asher was an enigma.

And he was the kind of person who couldn’t walk away from an unsolved mystery.

---

Oren pushed through the doors of the coffee shop, the scent of roasted beans and vanilla candles wrapping around him like a warm embrace.

The contrast hit him instantly—the welcoming heat against his rain-soaked skin. He barely noticed the dampness clinging to him until Harry’s voice cut through the low hum of the café.

"Oren!" The older man looked up from behind the counter, his eyes flicking over him with concern before breaking into a knowing chuckle. "Son, you’re drenched!"

Oren glanced down at himself, as if just realizing how waterlogged he was. His mind had been elsewhere.

"Stood in the rain too long," he muttered, brushing a hand through his damp blond locks.

Harry sighed, shaking his head. "I was yelling for you to grab an umbrella, but you must not have heard. How’s she?"

Oren slid onto a stool, arms folding over the cool marble counter. Harry wasn’t asking about just anyone.

He was asking about her.

"Asher?" He exhaled. "She… didn’t want to talk."

A shadow passed over Harry’s features. "It’s my fault, then," he murmured, more to himself than to Oren.

"Hey." Oren offered a small smile. "You don’t have to carry that weight."

"But I do." Harry’s voice was laced with quiet guilt. "I called her here. I made her come. I asked you to play without thinking about how it would affect her. That’s on me."

Oren shook his head. "Mr. Moore," he said, voice steady, "she’ll be fine. Maybe tonight just wasn’t her night."

Harry studied him, as if weighing his words against the guilt pressing heavy on his chest.

A moment passed. Then another.

Finally, the older man exhaled, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Maybe you're right."

Oren gave him a small nod, sensing that, for now, that was enough.

Harry gestured toward a nearby table. "Your case is there."

"Thanks." Oren grabbed the guitar case and slung the strap over his shoulder.

"You know," Harry added, a twinkle of pride breaking through his earlier solemnity, "I had some old friends come up to me tonight, telling me just how much they love your music."

Oren smirked, feigning surprise. "Oh? They did?"

"Of course!" Harry grinned, oblivious to the teasing. "You’ve got something special, son."

"Appreciate that," Oren said, adjusting the strap on his shoulder.

Harry hesitated before asking, "Will you be playing tomorrow night?"

Oren shifted, suddenly unsure. "I should be someplace else," he admitted. "The Lord may need me to reach out somewhere else."

Half-truth.

The other half—the one he didn’t say—was that he didn’t want to be the reason someone so dear to Harry stopped coming to the shop.

Harry nodded, his smile dimming. "Aw. You’re probably right. It would be selfish of me to keep you here." He let out a mirthless chuckle.

Oren was glad he understood.

As he moved toward the door, something caught his attention. "I noticed some vandalism around town," he said casually.

Harry’s expression darkened. "Yeah. It’s been going on for a while now. No one knows who's behind it, but the authorities are doing what they can."

Oren hummed thoughtfully but bit back a knowing smile.

They exchanged their goodbyes, and then he stepped back out into the rain.

---

It wasn’t as heavy as before.

This time, he took his time walking home, letting the cool drizzle trail down his skin, his mind drifting between Asher’s eyes and the weight of the song he played.

By the time he reached his apartment, his clothes clung to him like second skin. He stripped off the damp layers the moment he was inside, warming up with a hot shower before crawling into bed.

But sleep didn’t come easily.

The day’s events replayed in his mind—Asher’s unreadable expression, Harry’s regret, the unspoken things left in the air.

Then, Elise.

A name. A ghost. A scar.

He wasn’t fully healed from her. Maybe he never would be. But he leaned on the strength the Lord gave, because without it… he wasn’t sure where he’d be.

Possibly drowning in whiskey.

Possibly numbing himself in ways that would only carve deeper wounds.

He truly felt for those who turned to alcohol, to drugs, to anything that could dull the pain for just a little while. He understood it. But in the end, it led nowhere.

Life was ruthless.

It could be kind, sure. But it was also reckless. It put people in places they never expected, for better or for worse.

His phone vibrated beside his pillow.

Jaden: Bro... can you come pick me up?

Oren frowned, rubbing his face before typing back.

Oren: Are you drunk?

Jaden: As hell. I will die if I try to drive myself.

Oren exhaled.

Jaden had only been his roommate for a month, but it hadn’t taken long to realize the guy was battling a serious addiction.

Serious.

The phone buzzed again.

Jaden: Yo... you comin’ or what?

Oren sighed and threw the covers off.

Looks like sleep would have to wait.

***