Rain fell in sheets that evening, soaking the city streets and smearing the neon lights into watercolor blurs. Lysandra stood under the narrow awning of the clinic, her coat barely enough to keep her dry as she locked up for the night.
> "Figures," she muttered, tugging her hood over her damp hair.
That's when he appeared.
A tall man in a charcoal coat stood by the gate, holding a large black umbrella. His hair was tousled from the wind, and his eyes—an earthy hazel—met hers with a quiet smile.
> "Dr. Lysandra Moonwell?"
She blinked. "Yes… Can I help you?"
> "You helped my niece last month. Clara? The one with the fever?"
She nodded, remembering the little girl with the infectious giggle and a worn teddy bear.
> "She's doing better. Wanted me to say thank you. I brought tea."
He held up a paper bag, the scent of chamomile and honey wafting through the rain.
---
His Name Was Elias
He wasn't from the elite world. A human. A botanist who ran a tea shop and small herbal greenhouse. Gentle in his words, thoughtful in silence. Not handsome in a striking way—but comforting, like the warmth of a cup held with both hands on a cold day.
He didn't flirt. Didn't push.
Just… showed up.
He'd stop by the clinic occasionally, dropping off herbs or tea blends. Sometimes they chatted by the front desk about nothing at all—weather, books, flowers that wouldn't bloom.
One afternoon, she asked if he wanted to walk to the café nearby.
It became their unspoken tradition.
---
Trust Was Not an Instant Flame—It Was a Slow-Burning Candle
Lysandra didn't know when her walls began to fall. Perhaps it was the way Elias never asked about her past. Or how he always looked at her like now was enough.
No expectations.
No demands.
Only presence.
One night, as they closed the shop together, he handed her a small potted plant with soft white blooms.
> "Jasmine," he said. "It doesn't bloom unless it feels safe."
She stared at it for a long time.
> "Thank you," she whispered.
> "You're welcome, Lysandra."
---
The First Time She Laughed Again
It was over spilled coffee.
He'd knocked over his mug in a flustered attempt to explain why he hated mangoes, and Lysandra couldn't hold it in. Her laughter spilled freely, raw and bright. Her eyes sparkled for the first time in years.
Elias froze, staring at her.
> "What?" she asked, wiping her tears.
> "Nothing," he smiled. "You just... laugh like someone who forgot they could."
That night, she walked home with her heart aching—not with pain, but with something almost tender.
The world didn't change overnight.
But sometimes, the quietest bonds grew in the silence between words, in the warmth of shared tea, in long walks without a destination.
Elias and Lysandra.
No titles.
No pressure.
Just two souls who found comfort in the presence of each other.
---
The Quiet Bloom
Lysandra didn't even notice when her mornings began to include him.
He would drop by with breakfast on rainy days. Or offer his coat without asking. Or silently hand her a cup of tea when she looked a little too tired.
He never asked why her eyes were sometimes swollen from crying. Never questioned why she stared off into space during sunsets. He simply stayed.
And somehow, that made her feel safe.
> "You're too kind, Elias," she whispered one night as they sat under the stars on her apartment rooftop.
> He chuckled, taking a sip from his mug. "I'm not kind. I just like seeing you smile."
Lysandra looked at him—and for the first time in so long, she didn't flinch when someone offered her affection.
---
The Friendship That Felt Like Healing
Their friendship wasn't a storm.
It was a soft wind that swept through her grief.
When she fell ill for a few days, Elias showed up with soup, medicine, and a small music box.
When she confessed—shyly—that she once dreamed of writing a book, Elias surprised her with a leather notebook and said, "Then you should start today."
And one night, when she had a nightmare and called his number without thinking, he arrived at her door in five minutes with slippers on the wrong feet and no coat—just to hold her hand.
She cried into his shoulder, and he said nothing. No questions. No pity.
Just the steady rhythm of someone who wouldn't leave.
---
The Man Who Waited Without Waiting
Elias never confessed.
He never said I love you.
Not because he didn't feel it.
But because he knew she wasn't ready.
He was content to be by her side, even if his heart ached quietly when she smiled and didn't know that smile meant the world to him.
> "You're really okay with this?" Lysandra asked one night, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve.
> "With what?"
> "With… just being friends."
Elias gave her the softest smile.
> "If this is all I'm meant to be in your life, I'd still be the luckiest man to have been given that place."
Her eyes welled up.
> "You're a fool."
> "Yeah. But I'm your fool."
They both laughed.
---
She Was No Longer Alone
For the first time in years, Lysandra didn't feel like a ghost walking through the human world.
She belonged.
She had a home.
And someone who reminded her that she was still capable of being loved—gently, patiently, endlessly.