In Shadows and Starlight

Threads Of The Ordinary.

Jay’s small room felt like a sanctuary as she stepped inside that night. She kicked off her worn sneakers and let her bag slide to the floor with a heavy thud. The air was cool, the faint hum of the fridge and distant city noises seeping through the cracked window filling the silence.

She glanced at her reflection in the small mirror by her desk. Her hair was a mess, her eyes dull with exhaustion. With a resigned sigh, she changed into an oversized T-shirt and shorts, tied her hair into a loose bun, and shuffled to her makeshift kitchenette.

Dinner was a simple affair: instant noodles and a boiled egg. She ate by the window, staring at the city lights and wondering if Aran was somewhere out there, watching.

“Get a grip, Jay,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head.

The rest of her night unfolded in a quiet rhythm. A quick shower, an attempt to skim her lecture notes, and finally collapsing into bed. The weight of her day pressed down on her, but her mind lingered on Aran. He was strange, persistent, and annoyingly captivating. But she wouldn’t let him disrupt her already fragile routine.

The next morning began as they all did. Her alarm blared too early, jolting her awake. She dragged herself out of bed, dressed in her usual understated jeans and hoodie, and grabbed a granola bar on her way out the door.

Classes were uneventful. She sat at the back as always, her notebook filled with scribbled notes and half-hearted doodles. No one noticed her, which was just how she liked it.

When her bookstore shift started, she found solace in the quiet aisles. She rearranged books, helped the occasional customer, and tried not to think about Aran. But when she clocked out and stepped outside, there he was, leaning against his car.

“You again,” she said flatly, not even surprised anymore.

“Miss me?” he asked with a smirk.

“Nope.” She walked past him toward the bus stop, but he fell into step beside her.

“What’s so interesting about mundane routines?” he asked, matching her pace effortlessly.

“You tell me,” she said, not looking at him.

The days passed in a strange, almost normal rhythm. Jay would go to her morning lectures, work her two part-time jobs, and return to her small room at night. Aran’s presence became a constant—a frustratingly constant one.

At the bookstore, he’d show up and casually lean against the counter, watching her work.

“Do you ever not stare?” she asked one afternoon, shelving new arrivals.

“I’m trying to figure you out,” he replied.

“Good luck with that.”

At the convenience store, he would stroll in, hands in his pockets, and pretend to browse.

“Are you actually going to buy something?” she asked once, crossing her arms.

“Why would I? You’re already here,” he said simply, earning an eye roll from her.

Jay began ignoring him as much as she could, treating his appearances as nothing more than a mild inconvenience. Yet, when he asked questions—about her life, her thoughts, or even her favorite food—she found herself answering.

One evening, as she sat by her window eating a quick dinner, Aran appeared outside her building. She didn’t need to look to know it was him. His presence was oddly distinct, like a shadow she couldn’t shake.

When he called up to her, she sighed and leaned out the window. “What now?”

“Just making sure you’re still alive,” he called back, hands in his pockets.

“I’m fine. You can go now.”

He didn’t. Instead, he stayed until she finished eating, his silhouette barely visible in the dim streetlight.

Despite herself, Jay found she didn’t mind as much as she thought she would.

Over the days, the two of them fell into an unspoken routine. He’d show up when she least expected it, asking the simplest questions.

“Do you always take this bus?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you change your route?”

“Why would I?”

“Do you always eat that brand of noodles?”

“It’s cheap.”

Little by little, his presence became less jarring. Jay still didn’t understand why he was there or what he wanted, but she found herself opening up to him in small, mundane ways. And for reasons she couldn’t explain, Aran never pushed for more.

It was strange. It was frustrating. But it was also oddly comforting.