The Only Exception

5. Shared Walls

Alaz went pale. "I'm so sorry. Asi, I didn't know."

"You couldn't have," she said, already shaking her head. "Don't feel bad."

"Stay here!" he stormed out of the bathroom without another word, disappearing down the hall in long strides.

"Alaz," Asi called after him. "Alaz, it's okay."

But he didn't answer. A moment later she heard the kitchen window being cracked open, the oven fan whirring to life, and the unmistakable clatter of a pan being dumped in the sink.

She sighed and rubbed her temples.

*

It was late in the evening when she finally emerged from her room again. The apartment smelled faintly like lemon-scented cleaner now. No trace of eggs. Asi was wrapped in a robe, hair damp from a bath, her eyes clear again. She padded softly down the hallway toward the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea. Chamomile, with a drop of honey.

She didn't see Alaz anywhere.

But she heard soft clicks echoing down the corridor — the sound of fingers on a keyboard. His office door was open just slightly, and golden light poured out from the crack.

Inside, Alaz sat at his desk, hunched forward. He wasn't blinking much. The screen glowed in the darkness, a spreadsheet open in one window and a cascade of emails in another. His desk was cluttered — not with mess, but with intensity. Pens arranged by ink color. Sticky notes in surgical rows. Two empty coffee mugs.

He hadn't heard her laughter at first.

It came again, muffled and sudden — Asi's voice, floating from the opposite end of the apartment, through her bedroom walls.

Alaz looked up.

He didn't move for a few seconds. Just sat there, listening.

She was talking to someone on the phone, that much was clear. Maybe Ruya. Maybe someone else. He couldn't make out the words, but the rhythm of her voice was unmistakable — bright, playful, deeply alive.

It startled him.

The sound of another human living in his space. Occupying it. Coloring it with sound and breath and presence.

He should've hated it.

He expected to hate it.

His life had been built on solitude. A fortress of order. Every drawer, every step, every hour of his day was accounted for. Nothing unpredictable. Nothing emotional. And now — there she was. Just existing. Not asking for permission. Not disrupting on purpose. But somehow rearranging everything anyway.

The laughter echoed again.

And instead of fury, instead of tension, he felt...

Lighter.

Like the silence that had wrapped itself around this place — for years — had cracked open just slightly. Like he'd been holding his breath and only now remembered how to let it out.

His throat felt tight, but not in a bad way.

It scared him.

But not nearly as much as it used to.

*

The city outside had gone quiet. The distant hum of traffic faded into the low whisper of wind brushing against the building.

It was late now. Nearly 2 a.m.

Alaz lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling.

He'd been trying to sleep for the last hour, but nothing worked. He changed sides. Then back. He adjusted the pillows. He dimmed the lights to their lowest setting. Still nothing. His body refused rest.