This chapter contains scenes that may be emotionally upsetting for some readers.
Her wrist still trapped in his grip, her back against the door, Asiya's breath came in shallow, terrified bursts. Her heart was pounding so loud, it nearly drowned out everything else.
He was close. Too close.
A stranger. In her house. Dressed in black, masked, and cornering her like some scene from a nightmare.
Her heart raced—but not with panic anymore. Adrenaline kicked in.
"I said let go," she snapped, her voice low but sharp. Her body tensed, ready.
She slammed her knee upward with all her strength, catching him off guard. He dodged quickly, twisting to the side. In the same instant, her elbow shot back, landing a sharp blow to his chest. The force of it knocked him off balance, and his grip on her wrist loosened just enough for her to break free.
She staggered backward, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her hand shot out, grabbing the nearest kitchen stool, ready to defend herself if he tried to move again.
He didn't lunge.
Instead, he stood there, chest heaving, both hands slightly raised—not threatening.
"Get out," she said firmly. "Now. Or I'll call the police."
He took a step forward.
"I'm not here to—"
"Back. Off."
But he didn't listen.
Another step—and this time, she moved first.
She pushed him—hard—straight in the chest.
He staggered, and the motion knocked his cap loose.
It hit the floor with a soft thud, and his blond hair spilled out, sticking slightly to his forehead.
The dim light overhead hit his face, exposing soft blond curls matted with sweat, falling into dark, startled eyes.
Asiya froze.
For a second, the room was suspended in silence.
His face looked… familiar.
Her breath caught in her throat, but the fear wasn't gone—not yet. Her eyes darted to the door. She could still run. She should run.
But then he moved.
Slowly, he pulled down his mask. "I'm not here to hurt you," he said softly, voice raw, almost pleading. "Please… just don't scream."
His face was undeniably familiar—the sharp jawline, the intense eyes, and the soft curve of his lips.
Asiya's eyes traced the contours of his face, the features she had seen countless times on her screen now so vivid in real life. It was unmistakable.
Her lips parted in shock. "Wait… you're—"
It was him.
Kian. A famous idol from a seven members group named Eclipse.
He gave a tiny nod, eyes locked on hers.
Her heart thudded once, heavy and loud—but she didn't back down.
She didn't scream.
She didn't blush.
She didn't fawn.
She stared.
"You have five seconds," she said coolly, her knuckles still tight around the stool, "to tell me why the hell you're in my house."
Kian didn't move, still catching his breath. The sweat on his brow, the slight tremble in his shoulders—he wasn't just being dramatic. He looked really exhausted.
"I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," he said, his voice quiet, almost too soft. "I wasn't trying to hurt you."
Asiya didn't drop her guard. "Then why the hell are you in my house, breaking in like this?"
He looked down briefly, as if struggling to find the words. When he met her gaze again, his eyes were wide, almost pleading.
"I—I didn't have anywhere else to go," he said. "I… I'm hiding."
"Hiding?" she repeated, incredulous. "From who?"
Kian glanced toward the door, jaw tight. "From them," he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.
"Fans. I've been running for blocks… I thought I lost them."
Asiya glanced toward the door.
The faint sound she'd noticed earlier had grown louder—hurried footsteps, indistinct voices echoing off the walls of the narrow street.
Asiya's breath hitched.
He looked at her again—desperate, eyes wide. "I didn't know where else to go. Then… your door opened."
Her mind flashed back to just moments ago—when she'd opened it to check the street.
"You just ran in?" she asked, voice laced with disbelief.
"When I turned into this block, I was looking for anywhere to hide," he said, his voice low and rushed. "Then I saw your door starting to open, and before I could even think… I went for it." He looked at her, guilt flickering in his eyes. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry."
She slowly lowered the stool. Her arm still hovered near it, just in case. But her fingers loosened. Her shoulders eased.
And for the first time since this whole insane moment began, she took a proper breath.
She stood still for a moment, her mind racing, weighing the situation in silence. She could kick him out… but realistically, that would just throw him back into the crowd.
Then, finally, with a quiet exhale, she spoke.
"Fine," she muttered.
"Thank you," he said, his accent unmistakably Australian. "I swear I'll leave once they're gone."
She turned and walked down the hallway. Her steps were steady, but her breath was shaky.
In the bathroom, she leaned over the sink and splashed cold water on her face. The reflection in the mirror showed wide, alert eyes and tension still clinging to every inch of her expression. She wasn't someone who got scared easily—but this… this had been too sudden, too real.
She dried her face, took another breath, and squared her shoulders before stepping back out.
Kian looked up as she entered the room again. She tried to keep her expression unreadable, her posture controlled.
But he noticed.
Her hands were trembling slightly.
He didn't say anything, but his gaze softened—guilt flickering in his eyes. He took a small step back, giving her space.
She looked at the vase smashed on the floor near the corner of the small table, broken shards scattered in messy arcs.
She blinked, then let out a sigh. "Aah… great. The owner's gonna love that," she muttered under her breath. "I broke a vase on my second day here."
She began picking up the larger pieces, turning them gently in her hand.
Kian stepped forward, hesitant. "Do you want help?
She hesitated for a second. Her shoulders rose slightly, then fell as she replied in a calm, worn-out voice, "No… it's fine. I've got it."
He nodded and stepped back again.
She picked up what she could, then disappeared around the corner. A moment later, she returned with a small vacuum and began cleaning up the glass and dust.
Her movements were mechanical now, focused—but he could still see the way her fingers trembled, just barely, as she reached for the plug.
Kian stayed where he was, watching in silence, not daring to interrupt.
The silence settled between them, heavy but no longer sharp.
She noticed him still standing, uneasy, his posture tense and his movements careful.
"Sit," she said, gesturing toward the couch.
Kian blinked, then slowly obeyed, sitting at the edge of the couch like a guilty child, his hands resting on his knees. He looked uncomfortable, almost like he expected her to scold him.
As he settled, Asiya walked over to the window, her eyes glancing out at the street below. Through the glass, she could still hear the murmur of excited voices.
Where did he go?
They were looking for him, frantic calls floating up from the sidewalk. A couple of them shouted, asking each other, "Did you see him go this way? Where did he disappear to?"
Asiya sighed. She couldn't help but feel a tinge of sympathy for him. The poor guy couldn't even get a moment of peace.
She turned back to Kian, who was sitting, looking almost lost as he stared at the floor.
Without thinking, she opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and set it on the coffee table in front of him.
Kian's eyes lit up with gratitude as he reached for the bottle, his fingers trembling slightly as he unscrewed it. He took a long drink, his Adam's apple bobbing as he drank.
"Thank you," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his voice still low.
Asiya nodded, turning to walk back toward the kitchen, continuing her cleaning without saying much. It wasn't that she didn't want to engage with him—she just wasn't sure what to say.
As Kian drank, he couldn't help but watch her, his mind running a little faster now. His gaze lingered on her as she casually cleaned.
She hasn't said anything about me being an idol. She's not freaking out at all. Is she not a fan?
He raised the bottle to his lips again, feeling oddly grateful for the water.
He couldn't help but think it was a strange stroke of luck that he'd ended up here.
As the minutes passed, Kian continued to sit quietly, watching Asiya as she moved around the house. He felt a strange sense of calm he hadn't expected—maybe because she wasn't making a big deal out of it.
This is... different, he thought to himself. Weird, but different.
he glanced around, then spotted the laptop sitting on the counter. He hesitated, then looked at her, almost sheepish.
"I'm sorry to bother you again but… would it be okay if I use your laptop for a second? My phone's dead, and I just… I need to see if anything's out there."
Asiya, still wiping down the counter, glanced at the laptop, then at him. She gave a short sigh through her nose—more tired than annoyed—and gestured without looking up.
"It's open," she said simply.
Kian gave a small, grateful nod and moved toward it. "Thanks. I won't touch anything else. I promise."
He sat down and typed quickly, pulling up social media and news tabs. His eyes darted across the screen, scanning hashtags, fan forums, and trending pages.
A few blurry photos were already circulating. Posts speculating.
"He was here!"
"I saw someone run toward the corner shop!"
His fingers hovered over the touchpad.
Kian swallowed hard, anxiety creeping back into his chest. He let out a quiet breath and leaned back slightly in the chair.