I drove Sasha to her apartment, even though it meant veering far off my usual route. Her place was tucked away on the opposite side of the city, a long and winding drive from where I lived. The idea of leaving her to navigate Los Angeles alone, especially on nights like this, was unthinkable.
The city had changed. The streets weren't just quiet—they were suffocatingly still, a deceptive calm masking the undercurrent of fear that came with the recent crime surge. Each turn brought darker alleys and fewer streetlights, places where anything could happen. In my line of work, I knew better than most what could lurk out there.
I glanced at Sasha as she stared out the window, the soft glow of passing streetlights catching in her eyes. She didn't say much, and I didn't press her. Maybe she felt the same weight I did, that nagging sense of unease.
The silence in the car stretched, broken only by the rhythmic hum of the tires on the road. As we neared her apartment, I found myself scanning the shadows more than usual, my instincts on edge. Dropping her off here, alone, felt like tempting fate. But there was no other choice.
I fiddled with the radio, hoping for a clear signal, but the static refused to give way to music. With a sigh, I left it off and kept driving. The night air grew sharper with each passing mile, seeping through the windows despite my best efforts. I switched on the heater, and a faint hum filled the silence.
Sasha sat curled in the passenger seat, hugging herself against the cold. Her breath fogged up the glass as she stared at the passing streets, her fingers brushing absentmindedly over her arms.
"You've got a flight tomorrow?" I asked, breaking the quiet.
"Yeah, Loren," she replied, her voice soft, almost distant.
Her curt response made me smile. Sasha wasn't one for needless chatter, especially when she was tired. Still, she wasn't one to leave a conversation completely untouched.
"You have your family. Why not send them letters?" she suggested after a moment, turning her head to face me. "Or maybe some Christmas blessings?"
Her words lingered in the air like a weight. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, keeping my gaze on the road. "The relationship between me and my family is... complicated," I admitted, my voice clipped as I pursed my lips.
Sasha tilted her head slightly, studying me, but she didn't push. "Oh... okay," was all she said, her tone gentle.
She'd always been perceptive, knowing when to pry and when to let things lie. I appreciated that about her. Sometimes, silence could be the most understanding response of all.
As we neared her apartment, I glanced her way again. "Send some warm wishes to your grandmother from my side," I added, my voice softening just enough to cut through the chill.
Sasha offered a small, grateful smile. "I will," she said, her tone warmer now, matching the growing comfort in the car. For a moment, it felt like the cold outside couldn't quite reach us.
The rest of the drive passed in a quiet rhythm, the heater humming softly, warding off the chill that had crept into the car. Sasha leaned her head against the window, her breath fogging the glass as the streetlights cast fleeting patterns across her face.
I focused on the road, but my mind wandered. Her suggestion about my family lingered, stirring something I'd rather not confront. Letters? Blessings? I hadn't thought about doing anything like that in years. Bridges burned were hard to rebuild, and I wasn't sure I even wanted to try.
"You ever think about taking a longer break?" I asked, surprising myself with the question.
Sasha turned her head slightly, raising an eyebrow. "A break? From work?"
"Yeah," I said, glancing at her briefly. "You're always running around, jumping from one assignment to the next. Doesn't it wear on you?"
She chuckled lightly, the sound soft and fleeting. "Says the man who lives and breathes his work. When was the last time you took a break, Loren?"
I smirked but didn't answer. Fair point. She always had a knack for turning things back on me.
The streets grew quieter as we neared her apartment, the faint hum of the city replaced by the occasional bark of a distant dog or the rustle of leaves in the wind. I pulled up in front of her building, cutting the engine.
She lived in a modest but decent neighborhood, the kind built for people who worked hard to keep their lives steady. The street was quiet, lined with identical apartments that carried the charm of functionality over extravagance.
I pulled the car to a sudden stop in front of her building, the slight jolt rousing Sasha from her half-asleep state. She blinked, sitting up straighter and rubbing her eyes, trying to shake off the haze of drowsiness.
"We've arrived, Miss Campbell," I said, cutting the engine. My tone was light, teasing, but not without warmth.
She fumbled with her seatbelt, her slender fingers struggling against the jammed mechanism. The cold weather had likely stiffened the material, making it stubborn and unyielding.
"Let me help you," I said, leaning over to assist her. My hands worked methodically on the buckle, the warmth of the car creating a small, insulated bubble of quiet between us.
I was focused on unclasping the belt, but when I looked up, my gaze met hers. Her hazel eyes were wide, soft, and unexpectedly striking in the dim glow of the streetlights outside. Sasha had always struck me as someone younger than her years—her enthusiasm and occasional naivety made her seem almost childlike at times. But in that moment, there was something different. Something mature, something… womanly.
The thought unsettled me. I found myself leaning closer, instinctively drawn in, but I stopped short, catching myself before the moment could shift into something it shouldn't. Sasha's innocence, her earnestness, wasn't something I wanted to taint. My life was already a mess of complexities and burdens, and dragging her into that would be selfish.
Her eyes flicked over my face, searching for something I couldn't define, and I pulled back, breaking whatever fragile connection had formed. She was beautiful, in a way that felt otherworldly, but I wasn't ready for love—or anything resembling it. Especially not with someone who looked up to me, someone who counted on me as a mentor. I convinced myself of the mentor-mentee relationship we had. I respected it.
"Thank you, sir," she said, her voice tinged with awkwardness as she adjusted her coat. The seat beat unbuckled.
I nodded, my tone brisk to steer us back to safer ground. "Good night, and have a safe journey."
I opened the car door for her, and she stepped out with her usual grace. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she walked toward her building, each step deliberate and confident. I had always wondered, how she managed to walk daily on such tall heels.
I watched her go, intending to leave as soon as she disappeared inside, but she stopped midway and turned back, her coat flaring slightly with the movement.
"Yes, Sasha?" I asked, leaning out the window.
She approached, her heels tapping against the pavement like a metronome. In her hands, she held a carefully wrapped package tied with an elegant furoshiki cloth.
"Hoffman, I had these Christmas gifts prepared for you and Samuel," she said, holding them out.
I hesitated, taking the bundle from her hands. "What's this?" I asked, my fingers twitching as I prepared to untie the cloth.
She raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking in mild amusement. "It's rude to unwrap a gift in front of the giver."
She had a point. I nodded, holding the package carefully as though it might shatter. "Fair enough. Thank you, Sasha."
"Would you mind giving this to Samuel as well.," she said, holding out the other gifts.
"Sure thing.," I said, holding two gifts on my grasp.
"Good night, Hoffman," she said softly, turning on her heels and walking back toward her building.
"Good night, Sasha. Safe journey," I called after her, watching until she disappeared inside.
The car felt emptier without her presence. I glanced at the gift in my hands, the intricate folds of the furoshiki hinting at the care she had taken. Setting it down on the passenger seat, I started the engine and drove off into the cold night, my thoughts more tangled than ever.