The Slow Disaster of Wanting Someone
The power didn’t return that night.
Margaret eventually came downstairs carrying enough candles to illuminate half the guesthouse while loudly criticizing Scotland’s electrical infrastructure. She stayed with them near the fireplace for nearly an hour, wrapped in a thick wool blanket and drinking tea while telling increasingly dramatic stories about former guests at Blackwater House.
According to her, the building had once hosted:
- a failed magician,
- a woman who claimed to speak to ghosts,
- and a French novelist who apparently disappeared with someone’s husband during Christmas.
“Honestly,” Margaret said while pouring more tea into her cup, “the ghosts were easier to manage.”
Clara laughed so hard her stomach hurt.
Even Elias looked more relaxed tonight than she’d ever seen him. The candlelight softened something about him. Without the constant gray skies and winter light around them, he looked less haunted somehow. Younger maybe.
At some point Margaret finally stood with an exaggerated sigh. “Right. I’m old and you two are beginning to radiate emotional tension again.”
Clara nearly choked on her tea.
“For the last time,” she protested, “there is no tension.”
Margaret looked toward Elias calmly. “You see? Denial.”
Elias rubbed tiredly at his forehead. “Please go to bed.”
“Fine,” Margaret replied dramatically. “But if either of you falls in love while I’m asleep, I expect details tomorrow.”
Then she disappeared upstairs before either of them could answer.
The silence afterward felt immediate.
Not uncomfortable.
Just aware.
Clara stared into the fire while trying very hard not to think about the way Margaret’s words lingered in the room after she left.
Elias sat across from her, one arm resting loosely against the couch while shadows from the fire moved softly across his face. Outside, rain continued tapping steadily against the windows while wind drifted through the dark streets beyond the guesthouse.
“You know,” Clara said eventually, “she’s completely insane.”
“Yes.”
“And yet you’ve lived here for years.”
“I never claimed to make good decisions.”
“That’s fair.”
A faint smile appeared briefly at the corner of his mouth.
The fire crackled softly between them.
Clara should have gone upstairs hours ago. She knew that. Any reasonable person would have ended the night already.
But she didn’t want to leave.
That realization sat heavily in her chest.
Not because she was falling in love with Elias.
At least she didn’t think so.
But something was happening between them now, something quiet and dangerous. The kind of connection that forms slowly enough you don’t notice it until suddenly it’s everywhere.
She noticed it in the way she searched for him whenever she entered a room.
In the way his voice had started feeling familiar.
In the way silence beside him no longer felt empty.
Clara looked toward the fire again before speaking carefully.
“Can I tell you something awful?”
“You usually do.”
She smiled softly. “I haven’t thought about Daniel once tonight.”
Elias stayed quiet, listening.
“That should probably make me feel guilty,” she admitted. “But honestly, it mostly makes me feel relieved.”
For several seconds, only the sound of rain filled the room.
Then Elias spoke quietly.
“Maybe your relationship ended long before the email.”
The sentence landed harder than she expected because part of her already knew it was true.
Clara leaned back against the couch slowly. “You know what the worst part is?”
“What?”
“I kept trying to fix something he had already given up on.”
Her voice sounded smaller now.
More honest.
“I spent months convincing myself we were just stressed or busy or distracted.” She laughed bitterly. “Turns out he’d emotionally moved out long before he physically left.”
Elias watched her carefully across the firelight.
“You loved him,” he said.
“I did.”
Past tense.
The realization hit Clara immediately after she said it aloud.
Not I do.
I did.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Elias asked quietly, “When did you realize?”
She thought about it carefully before answering.
“I think…” Clara hesitated. “I think I realized it the moment he left and my first emotion wasn’t heartbreak.”
Elias waited.
“It was exhaustion.”
The honesty of the confession filled the room heavily between them.
Clara stared into the fire while speaking more softly now.
“I loved him for a long time. But somewhere near the end, loving him started feeling lonely.”
Something flickered across Elias’s expression hearing that.
Recognition maybe.
Understanding.
“Loneliness inside relationships is different,” he said quietly. “It makes you question yourself.”
Clara looked up immediately.
“Yes.”
He held her gaze for several long seconds before looking back toward the fire again.
“My mother used to say the worst kind of distance isn’t physical.” His voice remained calm, though quieter now. “It’s when someone stops reaching for you emotionally.”
The room suddenly felt too small.
Too warm.
Clara became painfully aware of how late it was. How close they were sitting. How easily conversations between them slipped into honesty neither of them seemed capable of having with other people.
Dangerous.
That was the word for this.
Dangerous.
Not because Elias was reckless.
Because he wasn’t.
If anything, he seemed careful to the point of fear.
But emotional intimacy had its own gravity. And Clara could already feel herself getting pulled toward him in ways she hadn’t expected.
“You know what’s strange?” she said after a while.
“What?”
“I barely know you.”
A faint smile touched his face. “That sounds ominous.”
“I’m serious.” Clara tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Normally I hate talking about personal things with strangers.”
“And now?”
She looked at him carefully.
“Now I keep forgetting you’re one.”
The silence after that felt enormous.
Neither moved.
The fire crackled softly while rain slid slowly down the windows beside them.
Elias looked at her in a way he hadn’t before.
Not guarded.
Not distant.
Just quietly vulnerable.
And suddenly Clara understood something terrifying.
He was trying not to let her matter too much.
The realization hit her hard enough to steal her breath for a second.
Because she was doing the exact same thing.
Outside, thunder rolled faintly somewhere beyond the city while candlelight flickered across the room.
Then Elias stood abruptly.
The movement startled her slightly.
“I should sleep,” he said quietly.
Clara nodded once even though disappointment immediately settled inside her chest.
“Right.”
He hesitated beside the couch for half a second, like he wanted to say something else.
Then finally:
“Goodnight, Clara.”
His voice sounded softer than usual when he said her name.
“Goodnight.”
She watched him disappear upstairs before finally leaning back against the couch with a slow exhale.
The guesthouse remained quiet around her.
Rain against the windows.
Firelight against the walls.
And somewhere upstairs, a man who was becoming increasingly difficult not to think about.
Clara closed her eyes briefly.
This was exactly how people got hurt.