Chapter 6:
The Walls Go Back Up

The second the words left his mouth-"Deal. I'll get it for you. I promise."-the spell broke, sharp and sudden as glass hitting tile.

Like someone snapping their fingers right in front of her face, Hannah suddenly snapped back to herself. The giddy flutter in her chest, the way her shoulders had relaxed, the bright rush of talking about the actress she'd adored for years... it all came crashing down at once. She realized what she'd done: she'd let her guard slip. She'd let herself be just a girl, instead of the cleaner she was hired to be. She'd forgotten the thick, heavy wall that stood between who she was and who he was-forgotten the secrets she carried like a stone in her pocket, forgotten that getting close to him was the most dangerous thing she could do.

Her face drained of color, warmth fading fast. She curled her fingers tight around the mop handle until her knuckles turned pale, and took a quick, stumbling step back, eyes dropping hard to the floor like she'd find the answers there.

"I... I should get back to work," she mumbled, voice flat, small, stripped of all the life it had held just moments before. "I'm sorry. I got distracted. That was unprofessional."

Arthur's smile faded slowly, like sunlight slipping behind a storm cloud. He saw every second of it-the light dimming in her eyes, her shoulders hunching inward, the walls slamming shut so fast it felt like a physical blow against his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, to reach out, to call out to her... and then his throat went tight.

He realized with a jolt that knocked the breath right out of him: he didn't even know what to call her.

He'd circled her block, watched her eat noodles, called the agency, fought every urge to walk up to her for days... and he still didn't know her name. Not once had she told him. Not once had the agency said. He had nothing but "you" and "miss" and the girl with the curls who yelled at him for being messy.

"Wait-" he said instead, voice softer, more unsure than he'd ever heard himself. "You don't have to... go back to being like this. It's okay. We were just talking."

"Really, sir, I need to finish this." She didn't look up for even a second. She dragged the mop across the floor harder than she needed to, scrubbing at a spot that was already clean, like she could wipe away the last five minutes the same way. "I've wasted enough of your time already."

He stood frozen for a long moment, stunned. One heartbeat she was bright, alive, talking so fast her words tripped over each other; the next she was distant, cold, a stranger again. He wanted to ask what had changed, wanted to tell her he didn't mind the distraction-that he'd trade a hundred messy conversations for one minute of that real, unguarded girl-but he could see it in the set of her jaw, in the way she refused to meet his eyes: she wouldn't let him.

He swallowed hard, pushing down the ache of confusion, and turned toward the kitchen. He filled a tall glass with cold mango juice from the fridge-sweet, chilled, the kind he'd grown up drinking after long days-and carried it back to her.

"At least drink something," he said gently, setting it down on the side table just within her reach, not pushing it into her hands. "It's hot out, and you've been moving non‑stop for hours. You'll get lightheaded."

Hannah paused, her movements stuttering for half a second. Her throat burned, dry and scratchy, and she could feel sweat sticking her uniform to her back-but she shook her head firmly, curls bouncing with the motion.

"No, thank you. I'm fine. I can't accept anything extra."

"It's just juice," he said, quieter. "It's not a gift. It's just... common decency."

"It's not part of the job," she answered, voice steady but tight, eyes still fixed on the floorboards. "I only take what I'm paid for. Nothing more."

Arthur let his hand fall back to his side. He didn't argue. He just watched her-quick, efficient, every movement careful and guarded-and felt that same helpless confusion wash over him again. He'd never had anyone turn down kindness like this. No one had ever looked at him like every nice thing he offered was a trap. He didn't understand why she fought so hard to keep him out, why she acted like getting close would break her.

He had no idea she was running from so much more than just him. He had no idea the woman she looked at like she hung the moon was her own sister, the family she'd never met, the name she'd spent her whole life hiding from. He had no idea that every smile he gave her, every small thing he offered, felt like a chain tightening around her throat-tying her closer to the very world she'd sworn never to step foot in again.

He wandered back to the sofa, sinking down onto the leather, and pretended to scroll through his phone. But his eyes kept drifting to her: the way she tucked stray curls behind her ear only for them to spring back, the way her shoulders stayed hunched, the way she moved like she was counting down every second until she could walk out the door.

When she finally finished, she folded her cleaning rags neatly, capped every bottle, and slung her bag over her shoulder like she was in a race. She walked over to him, held out her hand, and her face was smooth, polite, perfectly blank-no trace of the girl who'd gushed over Disha just minutes before.

"Thank you, sir. I'll see you at my next schedule."

Arthur fumbled for his wallet, pulling out the agreed amount, and hesitated for a heartbeat before pressing it into her palm. His fingers brushed hers for just a second-warm, calloused, working hands-and he wanted to say so much more. Please don't go. What are you afraid of? What is your name?

But all he managed was a quiet, "Take care on your way home."

She nodded once, short and sharp, and turned toward the door. She didn't look back.

The heavy lock clicked shut behind her, and the silence rushed back in, louder than before. Arthur sat there for a long time, staring at the empty space where she'd stood, then at the television where Disha Landicho's face still glowed bright and perfect. He thought of Hannah's wide, adoring eyes, the way she'd lit up from inside, then how fast she'd put out that light.

Who are you? he wondered quietly, curling his fingers around nothing but air. Why do you carry the whole world on your back like it belongs only to you? And why does it feel like... if I let you walk away again, I'll never get you back?