Zoya’s P.O.V
As soon as I closed the door, I knew there was one thing that I needed to demand some answers from that man. I didn’t care if he had his issues to deal with, but if those issues were to catch up to him and drag me down along with him, then I needed to know. In fact, I had every right to know.
“Are you a fugitive?” I asked him directly. “Did you commit a crime, and now you’re running from the law to avoid punishment? Because if you did, then you need to leave. I am not going to involve myself in aiding and abetting a criminal. Not when I am determined to get a fresh start at a new life here.”
I watched the man pause before responding, no doubt trying to come up with the best answer, the most valid excuse to give. He swallowed before speaking, “I am not a fugitive,” he said in a not-so convincing manner, “at least, not in human terms.”
“What?” I asked, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?” That was the second time that he said something implying that he was not human. Was I reading and understanding his words right, or was it just an expression he grew up with that meant the opposite of what I thought it to be? What was he even trying to say?
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “There are some things that you are better off not knowing, lady,” he told me, and I would have protested, indignant, were it not for the resigned tone with which he said the words. If he had said it in his usual arrogant manner, I would have disagreed, but this time, he sounded serious, tired, so I did not ask him to explain. “I am but a temporary guest in this household, and I need only to stay until I can make more suitable living arrangements for myself. You do not need to concern yourself with everything about me.”
And there it was, that arrogant tone. I wanted to strangle him, but I knew he would easily overpower me. The best I could do was compromise with him for my own safety, but I sure as hell won’t make it easy for him. I will not let another man boss me around this time.
“Excuse me?” I raised an eyebrow. “This is my house, and I get to say whether you can stay here or not. You don’t just get to barge in here and announce that you are to be my temporary guest. You have to ask me first.”
I was grateful that he did not point out the fact that I was basically helpless should he exert a little bit of force over me. Instead, unexpectedly, he played along, and I wondered if it had something to do with the sheriff that just visited earlier. This man certainly seemed to know the town enforcer.
“Fine,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Will you please allow me to stay here in the meantime while I gather my resources and find somewhere else to stay so I can get out of your way as soon as I am able to?”
I did not miss the somewhat sarcastic edge in his voice, but I took the request anyway. “Of course,” I said with a smile. “You are lucky that I’m quite generous. Had you asked any other person, you would have gotten your ass hauled outside immediately. Now go and take a shower. You stink.”
The man did not protest and went straight to the bathroom. It was clear that he had been wanting to clean himself up for a while now. As he did his business in the shower, I went to rummage through my suitcases, hoping to find something that would fit him. I did not feel very confident about this since I was much smaller than him, but what else could I do except search? Luckily, I found out that I had accidentally brought some of Ravi’s clothes with me without my knowledge. Some of his stuff must have gotten mixed up with mine in the closet since I liked to borrow his clothes. They were around the same size, so I was sure that this would fit him.
When he got out of the bathroom, all clean and fresh and with a towel around his waist, thankfully, I gave him the clothes, and he did not ask why I had such garments with me, but I knew that he recognized the clothes as the property of a man that was clearly nowhere to be seen, because he did raise an eyebrow in question which I decided to pointedly ignore, and, in turn, he did not push the matter.
“What should I call you?” I asked him after he got changed. I knew that he was likely to come up with a fake name instead of telling me his real one, because I had enough street smarts to recognize that people like him had their secrets to keep, and their identity was one of those secrets. I didn’t mind, though. I couldn't care less about his real name; I just wanted something to call him. I couldn’t very well keep referring to him as the stranger, now, could I?
I could not deny to myself that he was doing me a favor as much as I did him. Being alone after what had happened to me was most likely a bad idea. I did not know what I myself would do if I had been in solitude the whole time instead of fussing over a stranger I had found slumped on the floor of my new house. I probably would have lost my mind, torn between my newfound desire to prove the people back home that I was better than they gave me credit for, and my unkillable self-hatred.
For that, I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for him, even though his intentions were all nothing if not self-serving. At least he helped to anchor me in the right state of mind, even if that had not been his purpose of coming here at all. Happy accidents still produced positive results, didn’t they? This happy accident was a true blessing in disguise.
I watched him pause to think. I was curious to know what name he would come up with. People, when put on the spot, were likely to come up with names that had a bit of similarity to their real name, like the same first letter or the number of syllables. I wondered whether the stranger would do the same, and, if I would one day come to know his real name, whether his choice would reveal a lot about his character.
“Sam,” he finally decided after a long time. “You can call me Sam.”
I noticed how he didn’t say ‘my name is Sam.’ He was indirectly admitting that what he said wasn’t, in fact, his real name in the same way that I respected his privacy by asking what he wanted me to call him instead of saying, ‘what is your name?’
“Alright, Sam,” I tested the name, and it rolled right off my tongue, “how about some breakfast? I’m starving. Can you cook?”
I didn’t mind that he was going to stay here. I did not know this man, but if he wanted to hurt me, he could have easily done so when he woke up and I was still asleep. He needed my help, and that was enough to stroke my sacrificial nature. I could not refuse the stranger who had suddenly made my cabin his new home… and had stolen a kiss from me.
I wondered if he remembered that incident from last night at all, and thought, stupidly, about asking him, but I ultimately decided against it because it was nothing short of humiliating. I would rather die than let him know about how that kiss made me feel, and how foolish I had been, leaning into the kiss like he had been thinking about me when he’d initiated it.