Chapter two
Whispers in the Hallway
The house was quiet, but her heart was not. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant thump of a closing door, made Amara's pulse quicken. She leaned against the bedroom wall, pretending to sort through her bag, but her mind replayed Daniel's presence from earlier. The brush of his hand on hers. The way his eyes lingered a moment too long.
He's family. This can't… she reminded herself. But the thought didn't feel strong enough. Not anymore.
A soft knock on her door made her freeze.
"Amara?"
Her chest tightened. "Who…?"
The door cracked open, and there he was—Daniel. His shoulders framed the doorway, his expression unreadable, caught somewhere between longing and restraint.
"I didn't want to scare you," he whispered, stepping inside just far enough to close the space but leaving the safe distance she desperately clung to.
She swallowed hard. "You… didn't."
"You've been avoiding me all day," he said, his voice low, careful. "Why?"
She wanted to tell him that every glance, every accidental brush of skin, made her heart betray her, made her feel alive and guilty all at once. But she couldn't. Words failed her.
"I… I don't know," she admitted finally, feeling herself unravel.
His gaze softened. Slowly, he stepped closer, but still kept the invisible line between them. Every inch closer felt like danger and temptation at once.
"I can't ignore this anymore," he said. "No matter what anyone says. No matter what's… forbidden."
Amara's throat went dry. "I… me neither," she almost whispered, but stopped herself.
He lifted a hand, hovering near her cheek, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. Her body betrayed her, leaning just a little, drawn toward him despite her mind screaming to stop.
Then the sound of footsteps downstairs shattered the fragile bubble. Aunt's voice echoed faintly, reminding them of family, rules, and everything they weren't supposed to feel.
Daniel exhaled, stepping back. "Tomorrow," he said softly, his eyes holding hers. "We'll talk… properly. I promise."
Amara's heart pounded, every beat screaming both hope and fear. "Tomorrow," she echoed, her voice barely audible.
He gave her a faint smile, one that held both sorrow and longing, and disappeared around the corner.
Alone, Amara pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the rapid beat beneath her fingers. Tomorrow. That single word carried everything—the promise of closeness, the danger of desire, and the tension of lines that should never have been crossed.
And she knew one thing for certain: the line between them had already begun to blur, and there was no turning back.