Time passed...Both ended up in the same room..
Adrian returned from the bathroom, toweling his hair dry, a loose black shirt clinging faintly to his shoulders. The scent of clean soap lingered around him, mingling faintly with the trace of wine and perfume Amara had carried from the party.
On the bed, she was already fast asleep, curled up small in his sheets, his oversized T-shirt draping her frame. Her damp hair spilled across the pillow, her breathing even. Something tugged at his chest in a way he didn't like....an ache he couldn't explain.
He bent down before he could stop himself, brushing a kiss across her forehead. It was light, barely there, but enough to make his pulse jump. The moment lingered, fragile, before he straightened quickly, almost ashamed of his own impulse.
He turned away, lowering himself into the armchair across the room. For once, he let himself relax. The night had been loud, reckless, filled with flashing lights and bass that shook the walls. Here, in this quiet room with her steady breathing in the background, it was almost peaceful.
Almost.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He didn't look at it at first. Just another notification. But then it buzzed again. And again.
He frowned, reaching for it. The screen lit up.
Father.
Every muscle in his body locked tight.
He should have expected this. His father never liked silence. Silence meant Adrian was out of sight, and out of sight meant out of control.
He glanced at the bed. Amara stirred slightly, turning onto her side, but she didn't wake.
He swiped to answer. "Yes."
"Adrian." His father's voice was clipped, sharp. "You've been ignoring my calls."
Adrian pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's late."
"I don't care what time it is. Where are you?"
"Home." He kept his tone flat, careful. "I had things to do."
"Things?" The word cut like a blade. "Your 'things' are irrelevant. You have responsibilities. Do not think you can run off to university and play house while the rest of us are working. I didn't send you there to waste time."
Adrian's jaw tightened. "I'm not wasting time."
"You are if I can't get through to you," his father shot back. "Grades. Reports. I expect updates. I spoke to the board today—they're asking about you. Wondering if you're disciplined enough to take your place when the time comes."
Adrian's free hand curled into a fist on his knee. He wanted to throw the phone across the room. Instead, he swallowed. "I'll handle it."
"You'll handle nothing if you don't learn to prioritize. Don't make me regret giving you this freedom."
The line went dead.
Adrian lowered the phone slowly, staring at the dark screen. His chest felt heavy, every breath like a stone pressing down.
On the bed, Amara shifted again, this time half-awake. Her voice was soft, drowsy. "Adrian…? Is everything okay?"
He looked at her. For a second, he almost wanted to tell her. About the weight. About the expectations he could never shake. About how no matter how far he ran, his father's voice always followed.
But the words caught in his throat.
"…Go back to sleep," he said quietly.
And he turned away, shoulders rigid, the ghost of his father's voice still echoing in the silence.
---
The room was dim, the only light coming from the glow of Adrian's phone screen lying dark now on the nightstand. The silence that followed his father's call was heavier than anything Amara had expected when she stumbled half-asleep out of her dreams.
She blinked at him from the bed, her hair messy, her body swallowed up in his T-shirt. "Adrian?" Her voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.
He didn't look at her. His back was to the window, shoulders stiff, the faint outline of his profile etched in shadows. "Go back to sleep," he said, low, almost tired.
But Amara wasn't the type to close her eyes when someone she cared about looked like they were drowning. She pushed herself up slowly, sitting cross-legged on the bed. "It's not nothing. You wouldn't sound like that if it was nothing."
He gave a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Then tell me," she pressed gently. "Make me know."
He turned finally, his eyes catching hers in the darkness. For a heartbeat, she thought he might actually do it...let her in, tell her whatever storm was swirling inside him. But just as quickly, the wall went back up. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
"Not tonight, Amara," he muttered.
Her chest squeezed at the way he said her name. She wanted to reach out, to cross the space between them, but something in his posture told her he wasn't ready. So she simply shifted closer, slipping off the bed and settling on the floor beside him.
"I don't need to know everything," she said softly. "But you don't have to sit in it alone."
For a moment, they just sat there. Silence stretched, broken only by the faint hum of the city outside. Adrian's hand twitched against his knee, as though he wanted to reach for hers but couldn't bring himself to.
And then Amara's phone buzzed.
She almost ignored it...her eyes were still on him...but the vibration was sharp, insistent. With a small sigh, she reached for it on the nightstand. One unread message. Unknown number.
Her stomach dropped before she even opened it.
Amara, we know where you are. Stop hiding. Come home before you ruin everything.
She froze, blood running cold. The words blurred in her vision, but the meaning was unmistakable. Her parents. They had found her trail.
Her throat tightened, panic rising. She thought she had bought more time, that her distance and silence would hold longer. That the trust fund her grandparents left her would keep her free. But the message was proof....her parents hadn't let go. They were closing in.
Adrian noticed immediately. "What is it?"
She locked the phone quickly, forcing a smile that felt brittle on her lips. "It's… nothing."
He frowned. "You're a terrible liar."
She let out a shaky breath, hugging the phone to her chest. She wanted to tell him. Part of her wanted desperately to lay it all out...the pressure from her parents, the way she had been running, the fear that if they caught her, she'd lose everything she had fought to build. But she hesitated. He had his own demons tonight. Did she really want to pile hers on top of his?
Still, her hands trembled, and Adrian's gaze sharpened as he noticed. He reached out, almost without thinking, brushing his fingers over hers. The contact was light, tentative, but it steadied her.
"You don't have to tell me," he said quietly, "but don't pretend you're okay if you're not."
Her chest ached at his words. Here he was, drowning in his own burdens, and yet he still tried to hold space for hers.
For a long moment, they sat like that, the silence heavy with things unsaid....his father's expectations, her parents' looming presence, the fragility of the world they were building between them.
And even though neither spoke the truth aloud, they both felt it: they were not as alone as they had once believed.