While He Sleeps

Lines That Shouldn’t Cross

Chapter 6: Lines That Shouldn’t Cross

Amara sat at the edge of her bed, her notebook open but untouched. The pen rested between her fingers like it belonged to someone else. The pages—once full of warmth and hesitant hope—now felt hollow. She hadn’t written to Caleb in three days.

She told herself she was just tired. From work. From grief. From the emotional minefield of her tangled feelings. But the truth sat silently in her chest: she was afraid to hope for anyone now.

She hadn’t replied to Ysabel’s last message. Trixie had invited her to lunch that afternoon and she’d politely declined. Rafael’s silhouette sometimes appeared by his window, but Amara no longer looked. The world was moving, and she didn’t know where to stand anymore.

“Can we meet?”

Ysabel’s message blinked on her screen.

“Please. I feel like I’m losing you.”

Amara stared at it for a while before typing a short reply.

“Tomorrow. 4PM. Café Sorella.”

She didn’t add a smiley or a heart. She didn’t even end it with her usual “see you.” She simply turned off her phone and laid back on her bed.

The next day, the café smelled of vanilla and burnt espresso. Amara arrived first and took a table by the window. The sun filtered in gently, lighting the dust in the air.

Ysabel arrived five minutes later, smiling nervously.

“You look tired,” she said softly.

“So do you,” Amara replied, without meeting her eyes.

They sat in silence for a moment, their coffee cups untouched. Then Ysabel leaned forward.

“Amara, I know it's been hard for you, since your mother died... I am sorry I wasn't always by your side and—"

"I knew you and Rafael were meeting secretly." Amara cut her off.

Ysabel was shocked, she didn't even blink.

"What? How did you—you saw… the photo. Trixie showed it to you, didn’t she?”

Amara gave a small nod. “She didn’t want to, but I made her.”

“We weren’t doing anything wrong,” Ysabel said quickly. “We just… talked. We’ve been talking a lot.”

“Why?” Amara asked, voice flat.

Ysabel hesitated. “Because… I needed someone to talk to too. You’ve been so distant. I didn’t want to feel alone.”

Amara’s lips curved, not into a smile, but something sadder. “You talked to the one person you knew I was in love with.”

Ysabel’s eyes dropped. “I never meant to hurt you. I swear, Amara. Rafael and I—we never crossed a line. I just…”

She paused. “I’ve liked him for a long time. Before I knew how you felt. And when I realized it, I backed off. But lately…”

“You couldn’t help it,” Amara finished for her. Her voice was quiet. Resigned.

“I’m sorry,” Ysabel whispered. “But I thought you’d moved on. With Caleb. Because your mother's last wish was for you to marry him, right?”

Amara let out a dry laugh. “How do you move on with someone who doesn’t even know you exist?”

“Amara—” Ysabel frowned, she didn't get what Amara said, she thought that Amara is ready to settle with Caleb.

“I’m not mad at you,” Amara interrupted. “I’m just… done. With all of it.”

Ysabel looked heartbroken, but Amara couldn’t offer comfort anymore. Not when she felt like she was the one bleeding inside.

The following weekend, Amara returned to the Ramos household. Elena greeted her warmly, her smile soft.

“I was hoping you’d come. I’ve been cleaning out some of Caleb’s old things,” she said. “Would you mind helping me sort through the books in his room?”

“Of course,” Amara replied.

Together, they walked into the familiar quiet space. The scent of aged paper and clean linen filled the air. Elena handed her a box. “Just stack anything that looks like clutter. Old notebooks, receipts, you name it.”

Amara started at the shelf near the window. She pulled out one of the journals and flipped through the pages. Her eyes caught on a handwritten poem:

“I love deeply, but from a distance. Because closeness means loss, and I’ve lost enough already.”

Her heart thudded. She read the line again.

“Elena?” she called softly.

“Yes, dear?”

“Did Caleb write these?”

Elena walked over, peering at the notebook. She smiled wistfully. “Yes. That one’s from when he was about seventeen. He used to write things he couldn’t say out loud. His father never approved of poetry.”

Amara traced her fingers over the ink. “He’s… sensitive. Deep.”

Elena nodded. “He was always quiet, but he felt everything. He just didn’t show it.”

Amara clutched the notebook to her chest. “I’d like to read more of these… if that’s okay.”

Elena smiled. “Of course. They’re his. But maybe they’ll become yours too, one day.”

Earlier that week, Jenny had slipped into Caleb’s room while Amara was downstairs. Amara’s notebook had been left tucked between the pages of a novel. Jenny read every word. Each line was filled with wine of affection, confusion, longing. Her grip on the page tightened.

“I won’t let you take him from me, you should go back to your neighbor boy. That's where you belong, Amara,” she whispered.

That evening, Jenny did something she never thought she would.

She walked across the street and rang the doorbell of the Sarmiento house.

Rafael opened the door, brows lifting in surprise. “Do I know you?”

She crossed her arms. “We need to talk. It’s about Amara.”

He stepped aside, confused but curious. “Are you her friend?”

"No, but I am Caleb's sister."

"Okay, come inside."

Inside, Jenny didn’t bother with pleasantries. “You still have feelings for Amara, don’t you?”

Rafael blinked. “I—what does this have to do with—”

“You need to stop this engagement,” Jenny cut in. “You need to win her back. Before it’s too late.”

Rafael stared at her. “Why do you care?”

“Because I do,” she snapped. “Because she doesn’t belong here. She’s not meant to be tied to my brother.”

He narrowed his eyes. “How can you say that? Amara is kind, cheerful, she's a loving person. You should be thankful to have her as-in-laws—”

“You don’t know me,” she said, voice low. “And you don’t know what this will do to my family.”

Rafael leaned back. “You’re being protective… but it feels personal.”

Jenny’s lips thinned. “Just stop the engagement. Or you’ll regret it.” Jenny threw the notebook she saw in Caleb's room.

Jenny went out before Rafael could pick it up.

That night, Amara curled up in her room with Caleb’s notebook. She had chosen one entry to respond to—a short reflection about fear of vulnerability.

She got a piece of paper and began to write.

Dear Caleb,

I found your words today. And for the first time, I felt like you were talking to me.

You’re afraid of loss. So am I. But I think that’s what makes us the same.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be someone worth staying for. People leave, Caleb. Even the ones who promise they won’t. But maybe if you ever wake up… we can start something. From nothing. No promises. No past. Just… us.

She pressed the pen to the page, trying to breathe through the ache.

A knock broke her thoughts.

Soft. Hesitant.

She glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight.

Cautiously, she walked to the door and opened it.

Rain poured outside, and Rafael stood at the threshold, drenched, hair dripping, shirt clinging to his skin. In his hand was the notebook she left behind at Caleb’s.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, voice raw. “Please.”