While He Sleeps

Chapter 1: The Window Between Us Golden sunlight spilled through the curtains as Amara Velasquez stood by her bedroom window, carefully folding her blazer and placing it inside her structured beige work tote. Her eyes, however, were not focused on the contents of her bag. Instead, they drifted toward the house across the street—more specifically, to the room on the second floor, where he stood every morning, without fail. Rafael Sarmiento. He was there again today. Shirt sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows, a mug in his hand, and a cloud of calm indifference settled around him like a second skin. His dark hair was tousled just enough to look both effortless and aggravatingly attractive. His brows, always furrowed, gave him an aura of deep thought—or perhaps, perpetual irritation. Amara allowed herself a small smile. She tapped her fingers lightly against the glass, just enough to feel brave. Rafael glanced up, catching her gaze. Her breath hitched. Their eyes locked for a moment so brief it could’ve been imagined. She raised her hand and waved. “Good morning, Rafael,” she murmured, though her words didn’t carry past the glass. He blinked once. Then, without changing expression, he took another sip of his coffee, turned away, and drew his curtain shut. Her hand dropped. Still cold as ever. A sigh escaped her lips. She leaned her forehead against the glass, letting it cool her skin. She wished—just once—he’d wave back. Smile. Something. “Amara?” Her mother’s voice, faint but distinct, echoed from downstairs. She turned quickly, grabbing her bag and heading down the stairs. “Coming, Mama!” Lucinda Velasquez sat on the worn sofa in the living room, a blanket pulled over her knees and a small glass of water trembling in her grip. Her skin was pale and frail, her frame thinner than it used to be. The coffee table nearby was littered with medicine bottles and folded prescriptions. “Did you take your meds already?” Amara asked gently, kneeling in front of her. Lucinda smiled weakly. “I was waiting for you. I didn’t want to eat alone.” A pang of guilt hit Amara’s chest. “Mama, you should’ve called me. I would've prepared something before getting ready.” “You’re doing so much already,” Lucinda said, brushing her fingers across Amara’s cheek. “I didn’t want to bother you.” “You’re never a bother.” She helped her mother lean back, adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, and kissed her temple. “Chris and Paul are oceans away chasing their dreams,” Lucinda murmured. “But you—you stayed.” “Because I want to. Because I choose to.” Lucinda’s eyes softened. “Your father always said you were the softest of us all.” “And you’re the strongest,” Amara whispered back, her fingers tightening around her mother’s. Later that morning, Amara sat stiffly at her desk in the HR department of a midsized firm downtown. The office buzzed with the low hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional groan of an overworked printer. Beige walls, buzzing lights, and gray carpet—everything looked exactly as it felt: tired. Her desk was a chaotic mix of personnel files, onboarding forms, and anonymous complaint sheets. Every day felt like emotional triage—addressing resignations, resolving conflicts, and soothing over micromanaged employees with forced smiles. The only bright spot in her workspace was Trixie Calderon. “Did he show his abs this time?” Trixie asked, sipping her strawberry shake from a pink tumbler, eyebrows raised in mischief. Amara chuckled. “Nope. Just his cold, brooding face and the usual mug of existential dread.” “Still ignoring you?” “Completely. He looked straight at me this morning, then shut his window like I was a boring ad.” “Oof. Harsh. Still… that jawline though.” Amara groaned. “I swear, Trixie, if unemployment weren’t so terrifying, I’d just sit in my room and watch Rafael exist all day.” “I don’t know what’s worse. Your hopeless crush or this office.” Amara leaned back in her chair and scanned the office. No one greeted her when she walked in. No one even looked up. Trixie was the only colleague she ever spoke to—everyone else was too busy climbing invisible ladders or gossiping about who was next to get fired. Their manager barked more than he spoke, and HR—ironically—was the most emotionally drained department in the entire company. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m wasting my life here,” Amara whispered. “You’re not. You’re just… waiting for something better. Like love. Or a better paycheck.” Amara snorted. “Both sound equally impossible.” At exactly 11:37 AM, her phone buzzed. Caller ID: Mrs. Sarmiento A strange fear crept into her chest. Rafael’s mother rarely called. “Hello?” she answered quickly. “Amara—it’s your mother. She collapsed. We’re on our way to the hospital.” The world stilled. The hospital corridors felt endless. Amara’s shoes slapped against the white linoleum floor as she raced behind the nurse. Her chest burned with every breath. The ICU door creaked open to reveal her mother lying on a hospital bed, motionless except for the faint rise and fall of her chest. “Mama…” She dropped her bag and rushed to her mother’s side, clutching her cold fingers. Lucinda stirred. Her eyes slowly opened. “Amara…” “I’m here. I’m here,” Amara choked. “Please, just rest. Don’t try to speak.” But Lucinda’s eyes, though weak, held purpose. “There’s… something important,” she rasped. “You must promise me…” Amara’s throat tightened. “Anything, Mama. I’ll do anything.” Lucinda exhaled slowly. “Elena… my best friend. Her son, Caleb. You remember him?” Amara nodded, confused. It was a long time since her mother and Mrs. Elena Ramos has spoken. “I made a promise… that you would marry him.” “What?” Lucinda’s voice trembled. “I want you to… to fulfill our promise. Marry him, Amara.” Amara could barely breathe. “Mama, no—don’t say things like that. You’ll get better. We’ll talk about this—” "Amara, your two brothers can't be with you, but I know Elena will take care of you... His son, Caleb... Caleb is a good person just like Elena." "Stop, Mama, you're not leaving me—" “There may not be time…” Her grip tightened. “Promise me. Be with him, so I can rest in peace..." Tears spilled down Amara’s cheeks. She felt like a child again—helpless, scared, and desperate. “I promise,” she whispered. “I’ll do it. I promise.” Lucinda’s lips curved into the faintest smile. Her chest rose once more… and then went still. The machine beeped flat. Amara’s scream echoed through the sterile white room. She collapsed into her mother’s chest, sobbing uncontrollably, unwilling to let go. Behind her, the door opened. Heavy footsteps paused near the doorway. “Amara…” She froze at the sound of his voice. Rafael. He had heard everything. For the first time, he stepped forward, his usually guarded expression now fractured by something raw and uncertain. He opened his mouth again. But Amara didn’t look back. She stood, tears still pouring, and walked past him like he wasn’t even there. She had made a promise. And will change everything.