Amara sat on the sofa, numb and hollow, the room a muted blur of shadows and faint light. The memory of Kael's storming entrance and his cutting words burned in her chest.
You will never have my affection. Ever.
Somewhere in the distance, a car door slammed. Her heart leapt before she could stop it. She thought Kael would come back and regret what he did to her—but it wasn't Kael returning. It was only a neighbour across the street. Of course it wasn't Kael. Why would he come back?
She pressed her hands to her face, trying to stave off the ache that radiated through her body. She thought of the little girl she had been, trailing him with wide-eyed admiration; the young woman who had built dreams entirely around him; the fool who had dared to believe he might one day love her.
Outside, the storm raged. Thunder shook the apartment windows, rain slashing against the glass with relentless fury. It felt as though the universe itself mourned with her, echoing her despair.
Her gaze fell to her hands, trembling as if they were no longer her own. Her promise to Mr. Navarro—a promise made with the deepest sincerity—loomed over her like a shadow. She would honour it, even if Kael refused to step into the house. She would live there for six months. She would endure the isolation, the whispers, and the cold disdain of the man she loved.
Even if he obediently followed his grandfather to live with her because he had no choice. How could she live under the same roof as him, knowing he despised her? Knowing that every glance would be laced with contempt, every word with frustration? The thought alone made her chest ache anew.
But she had no choice. She owed it to Mr. Navarro. She owed it to the memory of the love she had nurtured silently for years. And so, despite the hollowness in her chest, she made her decision.
Six months. I can endure six months.
Her mind drifted back to college, to the first time her heart fluttered at Kael. Not the polite, practiced grin he wore in public, but the rare, unguarded one that reached his eyes. It had been after a debate competition—he'd lost, surprisingly, and instead of sulking, he'd laughed. She remembered standing at the edge of the crowd, watching him toss his notes into the air like confetti. Then he ran toward her and wrapped his arms around her.
That moment had sealed it.
She began to see him not just as her childhood friend, but as a man.
She remembered the way he used to walk ahead of her, never quite noticing she was always a few steps behind. She remembered the way her heart would flutter when he spoke her name, even if it was just to ask for a pen or a book. She remembered the way she'd practiced conversations in her head, hoping one day he'd see her—not just as a childhood friend but as someone worth loving.
But he never did.
And now, after all these years, after all the quiet devotion, he had looked her in the eye and shattered every hope she'd ever held.
You will never have my affection. Ever.
The words echoed again, cruel and final.
She stood slowly, her legs stiff from sitting too long. The apartment felt colder now, as if Kael's rejection had seeped into the walls. She moved to the window, watching the rain streak down the glass like tears she couldn't shed. Her reflection stared back at her—pale, tired, and heartbreakingly alone.
And yet, not entirely.
Her thoughts turned to Damian Sinclair.
Damian, who had never raised his voice. Damian, who had never looked at her with pity or impatience. Damian, who had simply been there—quiet, steady, present. He had listened when she needed to speak, offered silence when words were too heavy. He had never asked for anything in return.
She remembered the way he had handed her a sandwich in the break room, ignoring the stares and whispers. Eat, Amara. Ignore them. His voice had been calm, grounding, like a lighthouse in the middle of her storm.
She didn't know why he cared. She didn't know what he saw in her. But she knew his presence had kept her from falling apart more than once.
Still, he was not Kael.
Damian's kindness was a balm, but it couldn't fill the void Kael had left. Her heart didn't race when Damian entered the room. Her breath didn't catch when he spoke her name. She didn't dream of a future with him—not because he wasn't worthy, but because her heart had been too long tethered to someone else.
And yet, a part of her wondered: if Kael had never existed, would she have seen Damian differently? Would she have noticed the way his eyes softened when he looked at her, the way he always seemed to know when she needed space, or comfort, or quiet companionship?
She didn't know. She wasn't ready to know.
The rain continued its relentless rhythm, a lullaby for the broken-hearted. Amara turned from the window.
Six months.
She would live in that house. She would honour Mr. Navarro's wishes. She would endure Kael's silence, his scorn, his absence—even if he was physically present. She would endure the ache of loving someone who could never love her back.
And maybe, just maybe, she would learn to let go.