While He Sleeps

The Stranger in the Upstairs Room

Chapter 3: The Stranger in the Upstairs Room

It was a quiet Saturday morning when the call came. Amara sat by the kitchen table, nursing a cup of warm coffee as sunlight filtered softly through the lace curtains. The house still echoed with absence—her mother’s laughter now just a memory, her brothers' voices reduced to missed calls and unread messages.

When her phone vibrated, she almost ignored it. But the name on the screen—Elena Ramos—made her heart thump.

“Hello?” she answered softly.

"Good morning, Amara," Elena’s voice was calm, motherly. “I was wondering if you might be free today. I’d like you to meet Caleb.”

Amara blinked. “Meet him?”

“Yes,” Elena said gently. “I know it’s all happened so quickly. But I think it’s time.”

Amara hesitated, glancing at the clock. It was the weekend—no work, no obligations. Only grief.

“I… alright. I can come,” she replied.

“Thank you, dear. I’ll see you soon. We’re just outside the city—about an hour’s drive.”

Amara paused, surprised by the distance. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

She spent the next hour choosing what to wear. It was absurd, she thought—fretting over clothes like she was preparing for a date. But she didn’t know what Caleb would be like now. The last time she saw him, they were children at a reunion she barely remembered. And now, they were supposed to be… engaged?

She settled on a simple blouse and jeans, brushed her hair, and stood before the mirror.

“Just be yourself,” she murmured, then laughed at her own nervousness. “You’re meeting your future fiancé, not applying for a job.”

Still, a quiet tension lived beneath her skin.

The drive was long and quiet. Amara’s hands gripped the wheel tighter than usual as her car hummed along the provincial roads. Fields blurred past the windows, golden and green under the noonday sun. Her mind wandered with every mile—wondering if she was doing the right thing, wondering who Caleb had been before the accident.

She pulled up in front of the Ramos estate just after noon. The house was quiet, tucked behind a row of tall acacia trees.

Elena welcomed her at the gate with a soft smile and eyes that had seen too much grief.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, ushering Amara inside.

The house was quiet, warm, lived-in. Family portraits lined the walls. A scent of lavender lingered faintly in the air.

“Elena,” Amara began, “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all,” Elena replied, her tone tender. “You’re part of this family now. Come, he’s upstairs.”

Amara followed her slowly, her heart thudding louder with each step.

She expected to see a man—awake, perhaps quiet, maybe bruised from old wounds, maybe confused by her sudden presence. She had prepared for awkward smiles, a hesitant handshake, and small talk about their childhood connection.

But nothing prepared her for what she saw in a room.

The moment Elena opened the door, Amara froze.

Caleb lay motionless in a king-sized bed, his face serene, as if asleep. Monitors beeped quietly in the background, and soft tubes ran from beneath the blanket to machines that kept him stable.

The room was clean and peaceful. A bookshelf sat in the corner. Photos of him with his family were arranged neatly on a side table. A guitar leaned against the wall, untouched for years.

Elena stepped into the room and touched Caleb’s hand gently. “This is Amara,” she said. “The girl I told you about.”

Amara’s knees felt weak.

“He’s… he’s asleep,” she whispered.

Elena nodded, her eyes gentle. “He’s been in a coma for two years. Ever since the accident.”

Amara took a shaky step forward. Her voice dropped. “I didn’t know. No one told me.”

“I’m sorry,” Elena said, her voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t want to scare you away. I thought if you met him first, maybe you’d feel something. He was on his way to work… when it happened.”

“Car accident?”

“Yes,” Elena looked away. “It was a nightmare for me and my husband, since then he has never woken up.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, the door opened and Dr. Emilio Santos entered, clipboard in hand. Behind him, Nurse Carla Lim followed quietly.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Ramos,” the doctor greeted. His voice was professional but warm. “And you must be Amara.”

Amara turned, startled. “Yes.”

Dr. Santos smiled kindly. “We’ve been caring for Caleb since the beginning. He’s stable—his vitals are good, and there’s been no further brain deterioration. But he hasn’t shown any signs of waking.”

Carla checked the IV lines and adjusted his pillows with practiced care.

Amara stood there silently, watching it all happen.

“Can he hear us?” she asked softly.

Dr. Santos paused. “We can’t say for sure. Some patients in long-term coma states respond to familiar voices. Some… don’t. But we always encourage family to speak to them. Talk like they’re listening.”

With that, the medical team finished their checks and excused themselves.

Elena turned to Amara. “Would you like a moment with him?”

“I… I think so.”

Elena closed the door behind her, leaving Amara alone with the man she was supposed to marry.

She took a deep breath and sat on the chair beside his bed.

“Hi,” she said quietly. “I’m Amara. We were supposed to meet today like normal people, I guess. Maybe over coffee. Maybe at the bakery down the street. But instead…” She let out a soft laugh. “Here we are.”

She watched him, looking for any twitch, any flicker of movement.

“I don’t know how to talk to someone who’s asleep,” she continued, fiddling with her fingers. “But I promised your mom. And I promised mine. So maybe… I should try.”

She looked around the room again—at the untouched books, the dusty guitar.

“I was nervous this morning, you know? I thought you’d be standing at the door when I arrived. I kept rehearsing what to say. What if you were awkward? What if you didn’t like me? Now I’m the only one talking.”

The silence was heavy but oddly comforting.

“I’m not sure if this is love. Not yet. But maybe it could be. Maybe I’ll keep visiting. Maybe I’ll read you something next time. Or tell you about my day.”

She stood up slowly.

“I’ll come again,” she whispered. “I think I want to.”

Then she reached for his hand—just lightly—and held it for a moment.

“Goodbye, Caleb.”

The sun was starting to dip as Amara drove the long road back home. Her thoughts were thick with emotion, and the silence of the car seemed to echo her heartbeat.

When she reached her front gate, she noticed someone waiting.

Rafael.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the gravel at his feet.

She stopped at the gate, uncertain.

He looked up slowly. “Can we talk?”

Amara shook her head gently. “I don’t think I can. Not today.”

“Please,” he said. “Just for a moment.”

She hesitated.

“What is it, Rafael?” Her voice was quiet, guarded.

“I didn’t know it would hurt you like this. I didn’t even realize…” He looked frustrated, not at her but at himself. “I was stupid. I thought pushing you away would make things easier. But when I saw you at the wake—when I heard what you promised—I…”

Amara met his gaze, pain flashing in her eyes. “I loved you. For years. You never looked at me, not once—not the way you look at her.”

Rafael fell silent.

She opened the gate and stepped inside. “And now it’s too late.”

She didn’t slam the door. She just closed it.

That night, Amara sat at her desk and opened a fresh notebook. She didn’t know why, but she began to write.

Dear Caleb,

I met you today. You were sleeping. And still, you managed to leave an impression. I don’t know what I’m doing, or what any of this means. But I’ll keep showing up. Maybe that’s how love starts.

—Amara

She placed the notebook beside her bed and lay down.

For the first time in weeks, she slept without crying.

Outside, across the street, Rafael stood in his window, watching hers.

But her curtains remained closed.