I always considered myself an average girl with a penchant for books and academics. At twenty-two, I wasn't someone who would usually draw attention to myself---apart from the occasional comment on my brightly colored hoodies and the large white headphones I wore everywhere.

Lo-Fi music was my constant companion. Whether I was studying in the library or walking through the quiet streets of the city, that soft, rhythmic sound helped me focus.

It was on one of these afternoons that I found myself in a place I never expected---an old, dimly lit office in the city center, filled with the smell of stale coffee and cigarette smoke.

I'd been invited there because of a research paper I had written, something about criminal psychology and the patterns of behavior in unsolved cold cases.

To be honest, I didn't expect anyone outside of my professors to care much about my academic ramblings, but apparently, someone did. The letter was vague, but it asked if I could consult on a case, and curiosity had gotten the better of me.

That's when I met him---Detective Dirgan. He was unlike anyone I'd ever seen before.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and with a head of messy, wavy orange hair that reminded me of fire on a stormy night.

His piercing green eyes gave off a quiet intensity that told me he wasn't someone who tolerated nonsense.

There was something in the way he carried himself; a silent weight on his shoulders, the kind of burden only years of unanswered questions could bring.

I hadn't been expecting a man like him. I mean, I knew he was supposed to be impressive---after all, they said he was the best in the department, even at only twenty-eight.

But what stood out to me the most wasn't his appearance or his reputation---it was the depth of sadness that lingered behind those intense eyes.

"Miss Aria, correct?" he asked as I entered the room, his voice low and rough. "Thank you for coming."

I nodded, adjusting my bright yellow hoodie as I sat down across from him. My hands tightened around the straps of my backpack, my headphones hanging loosely around my neck.

"Your paper," he continued, his eyes scanning a document in front of him. "It's thorough. You have a keen insight into criminal behavior, particularly unsolved cases. That's rare."

I blinked, surprised at the compliment. "Uh, thanks. I just … I like to read, and research, I guess."

He smirked, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "That much is obvious. I need your help with something."

I leaned forward, my curiosity piqued. "What kind of help?"

He hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly against the folder in front of him. "It's about a cold case. A very personal one."

His voice softened as he spoke, and I could tell he wasn’t used to showing vulnerability. "My sister, Eilidh, she died eleven years ago. The police ruled it an accident, but I never believed that."

A shiver ran down my spine as the atmosphere in the room shifted. There was a heaviness now, something that felt almost sacred.

I couldn't help but glance down at the folder on the desk, a part of me wondering if it held all the answers he had been searching for.

But I didn't dare ask.

"I've spent the last decade working my way up in the force," Dirgan continued, his voice steady but laced with bitterness. "I became a detective for one reason---to find out the truth about what happened to her."

His eyes met mine, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of desperation beneath his composed exterior. He needed answers, and somehow, he thought I could help him find them.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "But I'm just a student. I don't know if I can---"

"You can," he interrupted, his tone firm. "You see things others don't. In your paper, you analyzed cold cases in a way that I haven't seen from anyone else, even seasoned detectives. You notice the details that get overlooked."

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on me. This wasn't just some hypothetical case I was studying for school---this was real, and it was personal.

Dirgan pushed the folder toward me. "I want you to read this. Tell me what you see."

My fingers trembled slightly as I opened the folder. Inside were old photographs, police reports, and handwritten notes---evidence from his sister's case.

Eilidh MacLeod, twenty years old, found dead in the woods near their family's home in Scotland. The official cause of death was listed as drowning, but there were inconsistencies.

No signs of a struggle, but no clear reason why she would have been in the water to begin with. The case was closed quickly, labeled a tragic accident.

But something about it didn't sit right with me either.

As I skimmed the documents, my eyes caught on a small detail in the coroner's report---something that hadn't been mentioned in the police summary. Eilidh had a faint bruise on her wrist, almost invisible, but just enough to suggest that someone might have grabbed her.

"Did anyone ever investigate this?" I asked, pointing to the line in the report.

Dirgan's eyes darkened as he looked over the page. "No. The local police were convinced it was an accident. They didn't want to dig deeper."

I frowned, feeling a surge of anger on his behalf. "That's not right. They should have questioned it."

"Exactly," Dirgan muttered, his frustration palpable. "But no one wanted to. They chalked it up to a family tragedy, moved on, and left me with nothing but questions."

I stared down at the report, my mind racing. There was something off about all of this---something that didn't add up. I couldn't shake the feeling that Eilidh’s death had been more than just a simple accident.

"Why are you asking me for help?" I asked, looking up at him. "I mean, surely there are other detectives, people with more experience---"

"Because you're not like them," Dirgan said, his gaze intense. "You don't look at things the way they do. You're not bound by protocol or procedure. You see the human side of things, and that's what I need."

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. This was more than I had bargained for when I'd come here, but how could I say no to him?

How could I refuse to help him find the truth about his sister?

"Okay," I said softly, closing the folder. "I'll help you."

A brief look of relief crossed Dirgan's face, but it was quickly replaced by his usual stoic expression. "Thank you," he said. "I don't know where this will lead, but I'm grateful."

Over the next few weeks, Dirgan and I met regularly, pouring over every piece of evidence from Eilidh's case. The more I learned about her, the more I realized how much she meant to him.

She wasn't just his sister---she had been his best friend, his confidante. Her death had shattered him, and he had spent the last eleven years trying to piece himself back together.

But there was more to the case than either of us had initially realized. As we dug deeper, we uncovered strange connections between Eilidh's death and other unsolved cases in the area.

It seemed like there had been a pattern of young women disappearing or dying under mysterious circumstances around the same time Eilidh had died. The police had written them off as accidents or suicides, but we knew better.

There was something darker at play, something that had been hiding in the shadows for far too long.

It wasn't easy.

We hit roadblock after roadblock, and there were times when I thought about walking away. But every time I looked at Dirgan, I saw the determination in his eyes---the fierce resolve that had kept him going for over a decade---and I knew I couldn't abandon him.

Then one day, everything changed.

We had been following a lead on an old friend of Eilidh's, someone who had been with her the night she died. We tracked him down to a small, run-down house on the outskirts of town.

Dirgan was convinced that this man, Fraser, knew something---something he hadn't told the police all those years ago.

When we knocked on the door, an older man answered, his face gaunt and weathered. He looked like someone who had been carrying a heavy burden for far too long.

"I knew you'd come," Fraser said quietly, his voice raspy. "I always knew someone would come asking about her."

Dirgan stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "We're here for the truth, Fraser. We know there's more to Eilidh's death than what the police found. We need to know what happened that night."

Fraser hesitated, his eyes flickering with fear. "It wasn't supposed to happen. We were just kids, messing around … but then she---"

He stopped, his hands trembling as he buried his face in them. "I didn't mean to hurt her. It was an accident, I swear."

Dirgan's expression hardened, but he kept his voice steady. "Tell me everything."

Fraser took a deep breath and began to recount the events of that night. It had been a warm summer evening, and they had gone to the woods near the river, a place they often hung out.

But something had gone wrong---a fight, a push, and suddenly, Eilidh was in the water, unconscious. Fraser panicked, not knowing what to do, and instead of calling for help, he ran.

He had lived with the guilt for eleven long years, never telling anyone the full truth.

His confession was raw, punctuated by sobs and broken apologies, but the reality was clear: Eilidh's death was a tragic accident, and Fraser had been too terrified to come forward.

After Fraser's confession, a heavy silence filled the room, thick with the weight of a decade-long mystery finally being solved. Eilidh's death had been an accident, a truth Dirgan had spent eleven years searching for, only to find there was no malicious killer, no grand conspiracy---just a tragic mistake that had haunted Fraser's life as much as it had Dirgan's.

I watched as Dirgan processed the revelation, his face impassive, though I could sense the turmoil beneath the surface.

His fists clenched briefly at his sides before he relaxed, exhaling a long, controlled breath.

His jaw tightened, and I saw the way his shoulders tensed, but he said nothing to Fraser, no words of anger or forgiveness. Instead, he stood up abruptly, his chair scraping the floor in the quiet room.

"Thank you for telling me," he said, his voice low but steady, though I could hear the undercurrent of emotion.

Fraser barely lifted his head, his body hunched over as if he was collapsing in on himself. He didn’t seem relieved by his confession---just broken, as though saying the truth aloud had shattered the fragile barrier he had built around his guilt.

Without another word, Dirgan turned and walked toward the door. I glanced between him and Fraser, then quickly followed, the air inside the house feeling too thick to breathe.

Outside, the cool evening breeze hit my face like a sudden jolt of reality. Dirgan was already by his car, standing rigid, his eyes fixed on some distant point on the horizon. I approached him cautiously, unsure if he wanted company or solitude.

For a while, neither of us said anything. The street was eerily quiet, save for the distant hum of city life far off in the background. Dirgan's presence beside me felt like a weight, not oppressive, but heavy with the unsaid words hanging in the air between us.

Finally, after what felt like hours, he broke the silence. "I don't know what I expected," he said quietly, his voice sounding almost hollow. "I thought it would feel different."

I nodded slightly, unsure of what to say.

What could anyone say to a man who had spent more than a decade chasing a ghost, only to find there was no monster to blame?

No satisfying resolution.

"Closure's supposed to help," he continued, his gaze still fixed on something far away, "but all I feel is … nothing."

It was the kind of emptiness that comes from dedicating yourself to a single goal, only to realize the end wasn’t what you imagined. I didn't try to offer empty reassurances.

It wasn't my place, and I knew it wouldn't help.

Instead, I stayed by his side, offering the only thing I could---quiet solidarity.

After a moment, Dirgan turned toward me, his expression more open than I'd ever seen it before. There was a vulnerability there, something raw that made me hesitate. I didn't know what he saw when he looked at me, but whatever it was, it made him soften just a little.

"Thanks," he said simply, his voice barely above a whisper. "For sticking with me."

I shrugged lightly, feeling a little self-conscious under his intense gaze. "You're welcome."

He gave me a faint smile---small, almost imperceptible, but it was there, a brief flicker of warmth in an otherwise dark day.

We stood there for a while longer, the city lights flickering to life around us as the sky darkened. Dirgan finally ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as if to clear it.

"I think I just need time," he said, more to himself than to me.

"Take all the time you need," I replied. It was all I could offer.

I wasn't going to pretend that this was an easy fix, or that everything would magically be okay. But I could offer him patience, space, and understanding.

He gave me one last look, and I could tell he was still processing everything, still trying to make sense of the truth he’d uncovered. There was no neat ending here---just the messy reality of life and grief.

"See you around, then," he said quietly before turning to his car.

I nodded. "Yeah, see you."

I watched as he drove off, the taillights of his car disappearing into the distance. There was no dramatic farewell, no heartfelt declarations.

Just a simple goodbye that left me standing on the street, feeling a strange mixture of sadness and relief.

When I finally turned to go back inside, the events of the day weighed on me more heavily than I had expected. I knew that Dirgan would need time---maybe a lot of it.

But I also knew that this wasn't the end for him, or for whatever tentative bond we had formed.

It wasn't romantic, not exactly, but it was something deeper than simple friendship. It was understanding, forged through shared experiences and quiet moments like this.

I stepped inside my apartment, closing the door softly behind me. The Lo-Fi music I always listened to when studying or reading filled the space with its familiar, calming rhythm. I let out a long breath, feeling the tension in my shoulders start to ease.

Dirgan's face lingered in my mind as I settled down, the image of his quiet smile etched into my thoughts. I didn't know where things would go from here, but that was okay. Some stories didn't need to have a clear, definite ending. Some connections were meant to unfold slowly, over time.

As I sat with my headphones on, the soft beats of the music mixing with the fading light outside, I allowed myself to feel the weight of everything we had uncovered together.

Dirgan had found his answer, and maybe, in some small way, we had both found a little more than we had expected.

It wasn't a love story, but it didn't need to be. For now, it was enough to know that we had each other's backs, even in the quiet moments.

And that, in its own way, was more than enough.

***

2.672 words.