Amara had learned to live with silence. It wasn't a silence that was comforting, like the quiet of a room bathed in soft afternoon sunlight. No, this was the kind of silence that clung to her like a second skin, suffocating and oppressive. The kind of silence that followed her everywhere, even when she was surrounded by people.

She had moved to the city to escape her past, or rather, to try to outrun it. It was a fool's hope. No matter how far you ran, the past had a way of catching up with you. But it was the closest thing to freedom she had ever known, so she clung to it with both hands.

The apartment she had rented was small, sparsely furnished - just enough to remind her that this was a place to stay, not a place to live. The walls were still bare, the windows still covered with cheap curtains that blocked out the view of the city below. She didn't want to see the city. Didn't want to feel connected to anything. Not yet.

Her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, its shrill ring breaking the fragile stillness of the room. She glanced at the screen, her heart sinking when she saw the name: *Mom*.

She hesitated, staring at the screen for a moment longer than necessary. Then, with a sigh, she picked it up.

"Hi, Mom."

"Amara, darling, how are you? I haven't heard from you in a while."

Amara felt the weight of her mother's concern, but it only made her feel more isolated. She could hear the worry in her voice, the kind of worry that only a mother could understand. But it was the same concern that had made Amara pack her bags and leave everything behind in the first place.

"I'm fine, Mom. Really. Just busy settling in," she said, her voice carefully controlled, betraying none of the emotions that churned inside her.

"Are you sure? You know you can talk to me about anything. You've been through so much, sweetheart. I just don't want you to carry all of it alone."

The words stung more than they should have. Amara closed her eyes, the tightness in her chest increasing. She didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to go back to the memories that haunted her - memories of love lost, of betrayal, of trust shattered. It felt easier to lock it all away, to pretend it was all behind her.

"I'm okay, Mom. Really. I'll call you tomorrow, I promise," she said, the lie rolling off her tongue with practiced ease.

Her mother didn't sound convinced, but she didn't push. "Alright, sweetheart. But remember, I'm always here if you need me."

"I know. Love you, Mom."

"Love you too. Take care of yourself."

Amara ended the call, the silence that followed even more deafening than before. She didn't feel better for talking to her mother. In fact, the weight on her chest only grew heavier. But what else could she do? The past was a shadow that loomed over everything, and no matter how far she ran, it always seemed to follow her.

The next morning, she woke early, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. She hadn't slept well. Her dreams had been filled with fragments of her old life - faces, places, and the all-consuming feeling of being loved, only to have it ripped away. The ache was still there, buried deep within her, but she didn't know how to face it.

She threw on a loose T-shirt and a pair of jeans, her hair falling messily around her face as she headed out the door. The air was cool, a slight breeze brushing against her skin as she made her way down the street. The city was waking up, people hurrying by with their own agendas. She could feel the pulse of the city, its energy that seemed to vibrate through the pavement. But it wasn't enough to shake the numbness that clung to her.

She had been in the city for two weeks, yet she had barely ventured outside her apartment. It was a pattern she had fallen into - one of isolation. There was comfort in it, in the silence, in the control. But she couldn't keep avoiding the world forever.

Her steps carried her to a nearby caf�, one that she had passed on her way home the day before. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the scent of warm pastries, a small comfort in the midst of the chaos.

As she entered, the bell above the door chimed softly. The barista behind the counter greeted her with a warm smile, and Amara nodded, forcing a small smile in return. She ordered a coffee, something dark and bitter to match her mood, and took a seat by the window.

She watched the world go by, her mind a whirl of fragmented thoughts. The city felt both unfamiliar and strangely comforting, but still, there was that gnawing sense of something missing. She had thought the move would give her a fresh start, but all it had given her was more time to think.

"Is this seat taken?"

Amara looked up, her breath catching in her throat. Standing in front of her was a man, tall, with dark, tousled hair and a sharp, angular face. His eyes were intense, a deep shade of brown that seemed to see right through her.

For a moment, she was frozen, her mind scrambling for something to say. But the words wouldn't come. He was? striking. She had seen him around before - his presence was impossible to miss.

"No, it's not," she finally managed, nodding toward the empty chair across from her.

He gave her a small smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes, and sat down. There was an air of confidence about him, but also something guarded, as if he, too, was hiding something.

"Thanks. I'm Gabriel," he said, his voice smooth, almost too smooth.

"Amara," she replied, her voice quiet, measured.

The moment stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension. There was something magnetic about him, something that made her feel both intrigued and uneasy. She didn't want to be intrigued. She didn't want to let anyone close. But she couldn't look away.

"I've seen you here a few times," Gabriel said, breaking the silence. "You don't come around much, do you?"

Amara shrugged, forcing herself to appear nonchalant. "I'm just getting settled."

He raised an eyebrow. "And how's that going?"

"Fine," she replied shortly, her gaze dropping to her coffee cup. She wasn't here to talk. She wasn't here to connect. She was here to escape, to disappear into the crowd.

But Gabriel wasn't done.

"I get the sense you don't really like people," he said, his tone oddly perceptive.

Amara stiffened. "I like people just fine. I just prefer my own company."

He leaned back in his chair, studying her with an almost predatory intensity. "You're a hard one to read, Amara. But that's okay. Everyone has their walls."

His words hit harder than she expected, and for the first time since she'd arrived in the city, she felt exposed. It was as if he could see right through her carefully constructed defenses, and that terrified her. She didn't want anyone to see her. Not yet. Not ever.

"Well," she said, standing up abruptly, "I should get going. It was nice? talking to you."

She didn't wait for his response, walking out of the caf� as quickly as she could without looking back. But even as the door swung shut behind her, she could still feel the weight of his gaze on her.

There was something about Gabriel. Something she couldn't quite place. And it scared her.