"Why didn't you get anything?" I asked, eyeing the stranger sitting across from me in the worn booth, his eyes hidden behind those ever-present Ray-Bans.
I cradled my milkshake, the familiar cookies and cream flavor—my absolute favorite—comforting amidst the awkward silence. Oreo bits floated on top, just waiting to be savored.
He folded his arms on the table, the faint outline of tattoos tracing his forearms catching my attention more than I intended to admit. The way his muscles flexed beneath the fabric was mesmerizing, even if his expression remained cool and unreadable.
"What’s your name?" I ventured, my voice quieter than I wanted, nerves fluttering in my chest. What if he ignored me again?
"Grey," he replied, his voice low and rough, like distant thunder. A shiver ran down my spine—his voice was unexpectedly captivating.
I smiled, feeling a flicker of warmth. "Azalea Delilah Carson," I said, reciting my full name to make sure he heard every syllable, hoping it might anchor him to me a bit more.
Maybe that was a mistake—giving him my full government name felt like giving away a piece of my guarded soul.
"Is Grey short for anything? Like Greyson?" I asked, grasping for any thread to pull him into conversation.
His gaze sharpened, a slight glare flickering across his brown eyes. "No," he said curtly. I couldn’t help but think he must have some grudge against the name Greyson.
Trying to keep things light, I took a sip of my milkshake—only to choke slightly on a stubborn Oreo chunk lodged in my throat. Panicked, I swallowed hard, desperate not to embarrass myself in front of him.
Choking on an Oreo in front of the most intriguing guy I'd ever met? That would definitely be a story no one would believe.
He clenched his jaw tightly, and I winced inwardly, sensing his unease around me.
He really didn’t seem to want my company at all.
"Where are you from?" I asked, hoping to peel back another layer of the enigma sitting before me.
"Knoxville," he grunted, eyes flickering away.
"Why the hell are you asking so many questions?" His voice snapped, dark and sharp, cutting through the quiet diner air.
My fingers played nervously with the straw. "I just like making new friends," I said, my smile faltering a bit. In truth, I was desperate for connection—even if it was just one single friend.
"What makes you think I want to be your friend?" His eyes bore into mine, searching, skeptical.
>Honestly? I thought the complete opposite. I was surprised he hadn’t left yet.
"Everybody needs a friend," I said softly, glancing away from his intense stare. I needed this to be true. I needed someone.
Maybe some people preferred solitude, but not me. I craved something real, someone to understand the chaos inside me.
With thoughts swirling relentlessly in my mind, I felt the desperate urge to talk, to be heard, or I'd spiral further into the shadows of my own thoughts.
"Th-" I began to say, trying to add to my argument about friendship, but before I could finish, he suddenly stood up.
His grip was firm as he grabbed my arm, yanking me out of the booth so abruptly I nearly gasped in shock.
Was this it? Was he going to rob me of my last two dollars and kick me to the curb?
"Is everything okay?" I mumbled, pain shooting up my leg from where I’d caught my knee on the edge of the seat. I tried to push the sting aside.
He dragged me through a narrow doorway labeled 'Employees Only,' and I struggled to keep up, confusion clouding my mind.
>Finally, we stopped in what looked like a storage room cluttered with milk cartons and crates of fruit.
"Did you want some fruit or something?" I asked, looking at him expectantly.
He didn’t answer at first. Instead, his gaze drifted to a small window where I could see my untouched milkshake sitting on the main counter, along with my keys lying dangerously close to the edge.
"Grey, my keys are out there," I said softly, hoping he’d listen.
He didn’t respond.
>He pushed away from the door quickly, stepping in front of me, his presence suddenly overwhelming.
"Do you ever just shut your mouth?" His voice was sharp, tinged with frustration.
I blinked, stunned. I hadn’t realized I’d talked so much, but I couldn’t help it—I was trying to save my milkshake and maybe, just maybe, reach out to someone who seemed so distant.
>"Are those the only words you know?" I shot back, referencing the repeated question he'd asked me.
He didn’t look pleased. Not many things seemed to make him happy, not even my favorite milkshake.
>What about dogs? I wondered. Dogs usually made everyone smile. But he wasn’t everyone.
>Suddenly, he leaned in, his eyes scanning me like I was some beautiful riddle he couldn’t quite solve. "You couldn’t handle what I have to say," he whispered, his tone low and challenging.
My heart hammered in my chest, but I squared my shoulders. I’d been through worse than whatever he was about to unload on me.
"I can handle insults," I said, trying to sound braver than I felt inside.
A slow, almost sinister smirk spread across his lips. I caught myself staring at him, captivated despite the tension thickening the air.
>"I’m not talking about insults." Suddenly, my back was pressed hard against the cold wall, sharp pain radiating along my skin. Strong arms pinned me gently yet firmly, trapping me in place.
Where were the employees back here? Why was it just the two of us in this cramped space?
>My breath hitched, nerves alight with a strange mixture of fear and something else I couldn’t name.
"You’re not prepared for the truth I carry," he murmured, his breath warm against my face. "But maybe... maybe you’ll see it someday. Or maybe you won’t."
The room felt smaller, the weight of unspoken stories pressing down on us. For the first time, I saw past his guarded exterior—a glimpse of the darkness he wrestled with.
>I swallowed hard, determination flickering in my eyes. I didn’t know if I was ready, but something about Grey’s presence made me want to try. To break through whatever walls he built and find the light I so desperately sought.
He finally stepped back, releasing me, and without another word, pushed open the door back to the diner.
>I stood there for a moment, heart pounding, milkshake forgotten, but a strange hope kindling in my chest.
Maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something new.