(Lilac's POV)
Every visit was a calculated step.
At first, it had been about checking in on Tom, making sure he was eating, that he wasn't spending his days locked away in his grief. But as the days went on, my purpose shifted. I wasn't there just because I cared about his well-being—I was there because I needed to be closer to him, to break down the barriers he had built around himself.
And I knew I had to be patient. I had to be careful.Each time my uncle, James, would stop by Tom's house to check on him, I would tag along. It was a perfect excuse—no one could question me, and it gave me an opportunity to spend time with him. Little by little, I worked my way deeper into his life.
I wasn't obvious about it at first. I would just linger in the background, helping with small things—bringing him a cup of tea, setting the table, or simply offering to stay while my uncle ran an errand. Tom was always polite, though distant. He appreciated the company, I could tell, but he kept things at arm's length. He wasn't ready to open up, not yet.
But I wasn't looking for an emotional connection, not yet. I just needed to be close to him. To feel his presence in my space, to be near the man I had obsessed over for years.
Each time we visited, I made sure to be the last one to leave. My uncle was never in a hurry to go home, and I used that to my advantage. I stayed just long enough for Tom to get comfortable, for him to allow me to take over the little tasks he didn't want to do himself. It started with the mundane things—folding laundry, straightening his kitchen, running errands with him—but I knew that, soon, I would be the one he depended on.
One evening, after my uncle had left for a meeting, I stayed behind, offering to help Tom with a simple task—rearranging some of the furniture in the living room. He had mentioned needing to make space for a new couch, and I saw it as my chance to show him that I could be useful.
"Why don't you take a break? I'll take care of it," I offered, putting on my best innocent smile.
He hesitated but then nodded, sinking into the couch with a sigh. "Thanks, Lilac. I don't know what I'd do without you."
I smiled inwardly, knowing this was exactly where I wanted him—dependent on me, trusting me.
As I moved around the room, I would glance over at him. He was sitting there, looking so… broken. I could see the fatigue in his face, the way his eyes were dull, like they had seen too much pain to ever truly shine again. And I wanted to be the one to fix him. I wanted to be the one to make him smile again, to fill the emptiness Emma had left behind.
I had been patient for years, watching him from afar, but now I could feel him slipping, just a little bit. His grief made him more susceptible to the quiet way I was weaving myself into his life.
He didn't notice, not at first. He was still wrapped up in his grief, still caught in the pain of losing Emma. But I could tell he appreciated the small things I did—how I made his favorite meals, how I listened when he needed to vent, how I lingered just a little longer than necessary, hoping he'd ask me to stay.
One evening, as I was cleaning up after dinner, I noticed Tom standing at the window, staring out into the dark night. There was something about the way he stood, the way he leaned against the windowsill with his hands tucked into his pockets that made my heart ache.
He looked lonely.
"Tom?" I asked softly, my voice almost hesitant.
He turned to me, his face weary but kind. "Yeah?"
"I was thinking…" I trailed off, my eyes meeting his. "Maybe you could use a little more company. I could come by more often, help you with things around here. I mean, I know I'm not much, but I want to be here for you."
He smiled faintly, but there was a hesitation in his eyes. "You don't have to, Lilac. I'm fine. Really."
I could see the walls going up, the defense mechanism kicking in, but I didn't let that deter me. I pressed on. "I know. But I want to, Tom. You shouldn't have to go through this alone."
For a moment, he didn't say anything, just looked at me like he was trying to decide whether to let me in. I could tell he was still holding on to something, some part of him that was still attached to the past.
But then he sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. "Maybe you're right."
I smiled, my heart racing with excitement. I had won him over, just a little bit.
Each visit brought me closer, each conversation, each moment I spent in his presence made it easier to get inside his mind, to slowly break down the walls he had built around his heart. I could see the subtle changes—the way he would start to trust me more, the way he would look for me when I wasn't there.
And I knew—sooner or later, he would turn to me.
And when he did, I would be ready.