Aria in "Heated"
Heated
The first sign of trouble was a persistent hum. Aria, halfway through a particularly dense philosophy textbook, furrowed her brow. It was almost a comforting background noise, the way a fridge hummed in the quiet of the night. But this was different. This hum had an edge to it, a rising insistence. She shut the book, the cool leather cover a momentary respite against the growing warmth in the room.
The thermostat, usually a beacon of cool neutrality, blinked back a disconcerting 82 degrees. Panic clawed at Aria's throat. The heating? In June? It was supposed to be the season of cool breezes and light sweaters, not sweat clinging to your back like a second skin.
With a muttered curse, she approached the thermostat, an ancient, dial-operated contraption that looked more suited to a Victorian mansion than a modern apartment. She slammed her fist down on the down arrow button, once, twice, a frantic flurry of presses. Nothing. The dial remained stubbornly fixed on its infernal setting, the hum escalating to a low whine.
Desperate, she twisted the knob herself, both clockwise and counterclockwise, praying for some magical release from the rising heat. But the knob wouldn't budge. Trapped in a sweltering prison of her own making, Aria resorted to what any self-respecting college student would do in this situation: she Googled it.
A whirlwind of search results later, armed with a screwdriver and a vague sense of hope, Aria went to war with the thermostat. Prying the front panel open, she prodded wires and fiddled with exposed screws, convinced that one misplaced nudge would unlock the mystery. All she achieved was a symphony of pops and crackles, followed by the blessed silence of a dead thermostat. But the heat? Oh, the heat remained, a stubborn beast thriving on Aria's mounting frustration.
Defeated, she slumped onto the worn armchair, the worn fabric now radiating its own unwelcome warmth. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead. "Okay," she muttered to the empty room, "plan B."
Plan B, as it turned out, was a pathetic collection of half-hearted attempts to stay cool. Aria shuffled through the apartment, a symphony of rustling fabric as she swapped jeans for a sundress, then a tank top. Each shed layer offered a fleeting moment of relief, quickly swallowed by the relentless heat.
She opened every window in the apartment, but the air itself felt stale and warm. Fanning herself with a hardback book was about as effective as waving a feather at a dragon. The ceiling fan, usually a lazy ornament, whirred to life, stirring the hot air into an oppressive vortex.
Desperate creativity took hold. Aria searched the meager contents of her fridge, settling on a bowl of ice water the size of a thimble. She pressed the cold glass against her forehead, picturing herself as an explorer lost in a desert, rationing precious water. The mental image did little to alleviate the physical discomfort.
Giving up on any semblance of dignity, Aria sprawled on the cool (comparatively) lounge floor. The wood offered a sliver of relief, momentarily tricking her body into thinking it wasn't melting. But soon, even the coolness seeped away, leaving her hotter than before.
Just as she contemplated taking a cold shower, the doorbell rang. It was a sound both blessed and aggravating. Relief at a potential solution warred with the terrifying thought of another human being witnessing her current state of undress and full-blown misery.
Peering through the peephole, she saw a tall man in a blue uniform. Plumber extraordinaire, here to save the day. Taking a deep breath, she cracked the door open a sliver. "Hi, I'm Aria," she squeaked, her voice several octaves higher than usual.
"Ethan," the plumber responded with a smile that could only be described as megawatt. He had kind eyes and dark hair that seemed to defy gravity even in the stifling heat. Great, Aria thought, just what I need, a heatwave and a distractingly handsome plumber.
Ethan, thankfully, seemed oblivious to the state of her attire. He quickly assessed the situation, his brow furrowing as he examined the disemboweled thermostat. "This is definitely... something," he remarked, his voice a soothing baritone that did little to cool her down.
For the next fifteen minutes, Aria watched, mesmerized, as Ethan worked his magic on the thermostat. He moved with a practiced efficiency, his large hands wielding tools with the grace of a surgeon. The heat, for a moment, faded into the background, replaced by a strange sense of captivation.
Finally, with a satisfied grunt, Ethan straightened up. "There you go," he said, wiping his brow. "Should be all good now."
The thermostat, as if on cue, whirred to life and the display flickered to a cool 72 degrees. Relief washed over Aria, a wave so powerful it nearly knocked her off her feet. "Thank you," she breathed, the words tumbling out in a rush.
Ethan chuckled, a warm sound that sent a shiver down her spine, though it wasn't entirely from the cold air finally starting to fill the room. "No problem, that's what we're here for. Though," he added, his gaze flicking to her body, "next time, maybe call a plumber before resorting to... improvised cooling techniques."
Aria flushed, suddenly acutely aware of her lack of clothes and her now-goosebumped skin. "Right," she mumbled, fumbling to close the door a little further. "Thanks again."
Ethan lingered for a beat, his eyes holding hers for a moment longer than necessary. "You sure you'll be alright? The air conditioning should kick in soon, but if you need anything..." he trailed off, gesturing vaguely.
The heat, miraculously, had subsided, replaced by a cool breeze that sent goosebumps dancing across her arms. But a different kind of warmth bloomed in her chest, a flicker of something unexpected. "I think I'll be fine," she said, her voice regaining its strength. "But thanks for the offer."
He smiled again, that megawatt grin that seemed brighter now that the apartment wasn't an inferno. "Alright then," he tipped his head in farewell. "Have a good day."
As he walked away, Aria watched him go, a strange mix of relief and disappointment swirling in her stomach. The relief was obvious - the heat was gone, her apartment was habitable again. But the disappointment? That was a new feeling, a realization that the past hour hadn't just been about a malfunctioning thermostat.
She glanced down at her hand, where a crumpled twenty-dollar bill resided - the plumber's fee. And then, a thought struck her. Ethan hadn't mentioned a service charge for the "improvised cooling techniques" consultation. Maybe, just maybe, there was another way to thank him besides money.
The air conditioner kicked in then, a cool wave washing over the room. But for Aria, the real heat had only just begun.
Want to see more?
Get instant access »
Aria at MPL Studios »
"Heated" »
A Haiku: "Heated"
Hot breath of the beast,
Plumber wields a metal kiss,
Cool air, sparks ignite.
More Stories to love
