REKINDLED || Completed

23

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Twenty Three
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Oren was grinning down at her, the flecks in his eyes more prominent than ever.

"Hey," she echoed, smooth but nervous. "Is... Everest home?"

"Well, no. He had to get something, but he'll be back soon."

Asher nodded, her head spinning.

"Do you want to wait?"

No.

Asher, say no.

"Would he take long?"

He made a face like he was thinking — puckered lips and all. "I don't think so."

"I could... wait," she said.

He let her in, and her nerves kicked in immediately.

The house was deathly silent.

No Jaden.

"Sorry about the mess. I was... brainstorming." He walked ahead into the living room, and only then did she notice the books, soda cans, a pizza box with a single slice left — and his guitar.

She took a seat across from him, her thoughts tugging in every direction.

He offered to turn on the TV and bring snacks. She declined.

Did he live there?

"I don't live here," he chuckled.

She blinked. Had she said that out loud?

She had.

Ugh. Her mind — always voicing the wrong things.

"But I do believe I have some  rights to his things," he added with a smile.

She nodded, lowering her gaze.

"How's your project going?" he asked.

"It's great."

But heavily stressful — thanks to your lazy friend.

"Are you sure?" He raised a brow.

"Mhmm." No.

He shrugged, choosing to believe her.

"Did you decide yet?" he asked, plucking his guitar.

"On?"

"If you're coming with us on Friday."

Oh.

That.

"Not quite. I did say I wouldn't go."

"I trust you'll change your mind," he said, certain.

"Why?" she blurted.

"Because you will," he replied simply.

She rolled her eyes.

It was quiet again. He ran his inked fingers down the strings gently.

Then, as if struck by a thought, his eyes flew open. "I'm so sorry — is this disturbing?"

The concern in his voice made her insides flutter.

"Not really," she said.

"Are you sure?"

She shrugged.

"Cool," he smiled, a dimple forming.

He shut his eyes and played. His face was calm, nodding slowly to the rhythm. Some golden strands of his hair fell forward, and the atmosphere shifted — like a quiet presence had wrapped the room.

It felt like that night at the Bean House.

The night she lost control.

The night the hunger for suicide slipped away.

Then he started to sing.

A quiet voice — tender, haunting.

All she caught was him saying one name over and over.

Jesus.

And suddenly, she was back in Marilyn’s room.
“Jesus never leaves you... Go with Jesus... Thank You, Jesus... Our Lover, Jesus.”

Marilyn, the deaconess.

The woman who ran a charity for broken children.

And she — just a girl who wanted to disappear.

"Have you always loved to paint?"

She blinked, snapping back to the present.

He was watching her, the guitar now silent.

"Y-yes," she breathed.

Her hands were clammy. Her knees rocked.

"You're anxious," he noted gently, as if afraid to break her.

She swallowed.

He leaned forward. Their knees brushed. "Hey," he said, raising his hands slightly. "Deep breaths."

She blinked in confusion.

"Inhale. Exhale..."

She mirrored him. It helped.

"Peace," he prayed under his breath.

She placed her hands on her knees.

"Better?"

She nodded slowly. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," he smiled. "When I'm anxious, I recite 2 Timothy 1:7. It works."

She just nodded.

"You paint so beautifully," he added.

"Thank you."

That warmth bloomed again.

She wondered — was it odd to want to paint him?

"I’d love to know what propels you," he said, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

She took a deep breath, fingers laced on her lap.

"It’s how I express my deepest feelings," she answered softly.
"It just comes."

"Like my music," he whispered.

"Okay...?"

Silence.

His gaze narrowed slightly as he studied her.

Too intently.

It made something erupt inside her.

She looked away.

But he gently tilted her chin back up.

Their eyes met.

A gasp escaped her lips. She fought to stay still.

"I find you fascinating, Asher. I don’t know why..."

His gaze searched hers, peeling away her walls.

"I won’t force you to let me," he said quietly.

Let you...? Let you do what?

He smiled — she'd said it aloud again.

"The things in my heart," he clarified, placing a hand gently over hers.

***

Okay, I got my main characters talking smoothly. That's progress. Goodnight!