CHAPTER 35
ARIA
The town looked like something pulled out of a watercolour painting—cobblestone streets, faded storefronts with hand-painted signs, and hanging baskets of flowers swaying in the breeze.
It sat quietly on the edge of the city like a place forgotten by time.
That’s exactly what we needed.
Somewhere unremarkable.
Somewhere safe.
Lean walked beside me, cloaked and hooded. The early evening breeze teased at the edges of the long coat I’d made him wear, hiding what needed to be hidden.
His wings were carefully bound beneath it, though I knew it was uncomfortable for him.
His silver-blue eyes scanned everything around him—shop signs, people passing by, the loud screech of a street vendor hawking apples.
He looked...lost.
Curious.
Like a predator trying to understand a zoo.
And it made me realise just how much he didn’t belong here.
He turned to me suddenly.
"Why do people keep staring?" Lean asked, his voice low and puzzled as he walked beside me, trying his best to keep his stride casual.
I sighed, reaching up to tug the hood farther down over his hair. “Because you look like you just walked out of a fantasy novel,” I muttered under my breath, glancing around and catching more than one set of curious eyes trailing after us.
“Fantasy?” he repeated, tilting his head like he wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult.
“Yeah. You’re… massive. Tall as hell, built like a war god, and walking like you’re ready to challenge anyone who looks at you too long. Your eyes are too bright, your skin too smooth—like it was carved, not born. And back there, when that dog barked?” I shot him a look.
“I swear, I thought your wings were about to explode out of that coat.”
He frowned, clearly offended.
"It startled me."
"I know," I said gently.
"But remember what I told you? You can't just...let them out. Not here."
He looked unconvinced. "But they're part of me. Hiding them feels like lying."
I stepped in front of him, lowering my voice.
"I know it’s hard. But if you want to stay with me, you have to trust me on this."
He leaned in closer, voice low and hopeful.
“Can I flap them now?” he whispered, like a child asking for dessert before dinner.
“No one’s looking.”
I turned to him slowly, arching a brow.
“Lean…”
He gave me an innocent, wide-eyed look that absolutely did not belong on a full-grown warrior.
“Please?” he added, lips twitching.
“Lean,”
He frowned, the crease between his brows deepening as he looked at me.
“But they itch. It feels unnatural to keep them bound.”
“I know it’s uncomfortable,” I said gently, adjusting the collar of his coat,
“But here… people don’t do well with the unknown. When they see something they can’t explain, they get scared. And you—” I looked up at him,
“You’re something beyond their imagination. If they saw your wings, they wouldn’t see beauty. They’d see a threat. And they’d lock you up again.”
His jaw tightened, a flicker of pain crossing his features. Then, after a long beat, he nodded.
“Okay. If hiding them means I get to stay with you… Then I’ll do it. No matter how much it hurts.”
That sent a rush of warmth to my chest—tinged with guilt. I hated asking him to dim parts of himself just to fit in.
.......
As we walked, I pointed out simple things.
“Those are traffic lights,” I explained, pointing up at the glowing signals.
“Green means go, red means stop—you never step into the street unless the sign says it’s safe. And always look both ways, even if the light is green.”
He frowned. “So many rules for walking?”
I smiled.
"Yes. It’s about rules and safety. And another thing—don’t ask too many questions about people’s personal lives. It’s polite to keep things private, even if you’re curious....
Oh, and when you enter a shop or a restaurant, it’s polite to say ‘hello’ or ‘thank you.’ People notice manners here.”
He gave me a sidelong look. “So, I have to remember to say ‘thank you’ even if I don’t mean it?”
I laughed softly. “It's polite. It helps things go smoother—it’s how we show respect without words.”
He observed every detail like it was a battle tactic.
When we passed a café, he stopped to stare at a couple holding hands and sharing a pastry.
“Why is she feeding him?”
“It’s a date,” I said.
He blinked. “Is that expected here? Should I feed you?”
My cheeks flamed.
“No, not like that. It’s symbolic. Affection. Intimacy.”
He gave a thoughtful hum. “I’ll remember that.”
I was about to change the subject when I saw a modest inn tucked between a laundromat and an old hardware store.
Its wooden sign read The Oak Lantern.
Perfect.
“This might work,” I murmured, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.
“Come on,” I said, grabbing his wrist.
“Let’s try here....and just… let me do the talking.”
Inside, the scent of lemon polish and old books lingered in the air.
A woman behind the counter glanced up. She had silver hair pulled into a bun and half-moon glasses perched on her nose.
“Evenin’. Looking for a room?” she asked.
I gave a bright, rehearsed smile.
“Yes. Just one night, for me and my brother.”
Lean shifted beside me, and I elbowed him subtly when he opened his mouth.
“Your... brother,” the woman repeated, peering over her glasses.
“You two don’t look much alike.”
“Different fathers,” I said quickly.
She gave us a long look, then shrugged.
“Don’t ask, don’t tell, I always say.
Room thirty-five for the night. No ID required. You’ll be paying cash, I assume?”
I nodded, relieved. “Absolutely.”
I handed over a few bills and followed her up creaking stairs to a narrow hallway. She handed us a brass key.
“Top of the hall. Don’t mind the window—it gets bright in the morning. You two get some rest.”
The room was small but clean.
One bed, one dresser, a narrow door leading to a bathroom. It wasn’t much, but after everything we’d been through, it felt like a palace.
“I’m going to take a bath,” I said, peeling off my jacket.
“Try not to open the window or flap your wings or... set anything on fire.”
“I don’t breathe fire,” Lean said, raising a brow.
“Not the point,” I muttered,
“And hey.....You can take the coat off now. Just… don’t stretch your wings too much. The walls are thin, and I don’t want the neighbours freaking out.”
He nodded, pulling off the coat slowly. His wings unfurled instinctively the moment they were free, stretching slightly and then curling back in. I watched his eyes close for a moment—just a moment—as he enjoyed the small relief.
“You’re doing great, by the way,” I said quietly. “I know this isn’t easy.”
He looked at me, his eyes—those glowing eyes—softer now.
“I would do worse things to stay near you.”
I felt heat crawl up my neck. I didn’t know what to say to that, so I turned toward the bathroom.
“I’m going to shower.”
I closed the bathroom door behind me and leaned against it for a second, exhaling slowly.
My heart was doing strange things lately—like flipping over every time he looked at me like that.
Like I was something rare and precious.
I shook it off and turned on the water.
The bathroom was cramped, but the water was hot, and that was all I needed. I let it run over my skin, washing away the dirt, the fear, the tension. I didn’t hear him move.
Didn’t know anything was off until I stepped out of the shower and reached for the towel—and saw it.
The wall behind the mirror. A faint shimmer in the glass. My eyes narrowed.
It wasn’t foggy from this side.
It was one-way glass.
I froze. “Oh my God.”
I quickly wrapped myself in the towel, heart pounding.
Did he—?
Had he—?
When I opened the door, Lean was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped together.
He stood the second he saw me, eyes wide.
“I did not know,” he said quickly.
“At first. But then—I could see you. And I—” He stopped, clearly searching for the right words.
“You are… exquisite.”
I stared at him, still holding the towel tightly.
“You watched me?”
He nodded, utterly sincere.
“Yes. And I have no shame for it.”
“Lean!”
He stepped closer, his gaze intense but not unkind.
“You are unlike anything I have ever seen. I have flown over volcanoes. I have seen firestorms. But nothing has ever stunned me like the shape of you stepping out of that water.”
I blinked.
“That is… a very dramatic compliment.”
He tilted his head. “Is that wrong?”
I let out a breathless laugh.
“No. Just… maybe dial it down a little. Humans don’t usually say things like that after spying on someone in the shower.”
He frowned. “But I was admiring you. Worshipping, even.”
“Oh my God,” I muttered, turning away to grab my clothes.
“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”
But a small part of me—the traitorous, fluttering part—was smiling. Because, despite how completely inappropriate it was, he meant every word. And there was something strangely disarming about being admired by someone who didn’t know how to lie.
When I turned back, dressed now, he was still standing there, unsure. Like he didn’t know if he should apologise or if he’d done something brave.
I sighed, walking over to him.
“You didn’t mean harm. I know that. Just… next time, maybe not look or knock?”
He nodded. “I will knock. Or hum loudly.”
I laughed again, this time for real. “That works too.”
He stared at me then, not looking away.
“You are beautiful, Aria. Even if I am not allowed to say it.”
I felt my heart skip.
“You’re allowed. Just… maybe keep the firestorm metaphors to a minimum in public.”
He smiled, something boyish and rare lighting up his face.
“I will try. For you.”
And in that tiny, worn-down inn room, something shifted between us. No longer just survival. No longer just strangers.
But something is beginning. Fragile and strange. But real.
And I think we both felt it.