Semua Bab When Love Crosses the Line: Bab 11 - Bab 20

Amara woke before dawn, the darkness of her South London flat pressing against her chest like an unspoken weight. The streets below, normally familiar and comforting, now felt like they belonged to someone else. Each shadow outside her window seemed to whisper of choices she had yet to make, and every creak of her floorboards echoed the uncertainty in her soul. She lay still, staring at the ceiling, feeling the rhythm of her own heartbeat as if it were a drum marking the steps toward an unknown future.Her thoughts, inevitable and relentless, circled Liam. His voice, soft and measured during their last conversation, reverberated in her mind. There had been tenderness there, but it was restrained, careful as though he was guarding himself from a storm he feared she might bring. And yet, the longing in his eyes, the subtle shifts in his posture whenever she entered a room, spoke of a desire that could no longer be contained. Amara pressed her palms to her face, stifling a sob that threa

The night air clung to Amara’s skin, damp and heavy, as she moved further from the crossroads. Each step she took seemed to echo in her ears, an affirmation that she had chosen, though the gravity of that choice pressed down like a weight she wasn’t sure she could carry. Brixton’s streets narrowed as she turned toward the mural wall. The glow of streetlamps painted patches of light across the pavement, fractured and uncertain, much like her own heart.She could hear her pulse in her throat as she drew closer. The mural wall loomed ahead, splashed with streaks of defiance and hope. A canvas of voices that had come before them, colors layered with stories of migration, struggle, resilience. Tonight, it felt like a mirror.Liam was already there. He stood with his back to her, a spray can in hand, adding something to the edge of the mural. His shoulders were tense, the rhythm of his movements erratic, like a man trying to paint away the ache inside him.“Liam,” she called softly.He froz

The room was quiet except for the soft scratching of Amara’s pen across her notebook. Late evening had settled over her South London flat, a velvet darkness that wrapped around her like a blanket, concealing the city’s distant hum. She was lost in her studies, trying to focus on the words and formulas before her, when the sudden buzz of her phone broke the stillness. Her chest tightened the moment she glimpsed the name flashing on the screen: Liam.She hadn’t heard from him in weeks. Weeks that had felt impossibly long, filled with empty hours and muted longing. Her fingers trembled slightly as she swiped to answer, a rush of emotions flooding her all at once.“Amara?” His voice, low and familiar, carried through the line. There was something unspoken beneath the warmth, a tension that prickled at her nerves and sent her pulse racing.“Liam,” she breathed, barely recognizing the quiver in her voice. She leaned back in her chair, letting herself feel the quiet shock of hearing him afte

The park stretched wide beneath a pale October sky, its air crisp with the scent of earth and damp leaves. Golden and copper foliage carpeted the winding paths, crunching faintly beneath the shoes of joggers and the tires of strollers. Yet despite the scattered life of the place, the corner where Amara sat felt hushed, almost sacred.She perched on a wooden bench that overlooked the pond, the phone in her hands a lifeline she could not stop staring at. Her thumb hovered nervously over the screen even though the last message had been sent hours ago: I’ll meet you there. Just four words from Liam. Words that had set her pulse racing and kept her from sleeping through most of the night.Now, as she sat there, every sound seemed magnified: the rustle of leaves, the distant laughter of children, the whisper of the wind sweeping through the bare branches. She checked her watch again, wondering if he would come, if he would still look at her the way he used to, if time had changed more than

The house was quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against the walls after guests had left and conversations had faded. Amara retreated to her room, the sound of her heels clicking softly on the marble floor, each step echoing louder in her chest than in the hall.She closed her door behind her and leaned against it, as though shutting herself away from the weight of the dinner table, from Darren’s smug smile, her mother’s expectant gaze, and her father’s approving nods. She needed distance, breathing space, before their vision of her future swallowed her whole.Her room, usually a place of comfort, felt suffocating tonight. The familiar shelves stacked with books, the framed photos of family vacations, even the faint lavender scent from her diffuser seemed to remind her of who she was expected to be rather than who she truly was. She crossed to the mirror above her dresser and stared at her reflection.For the first time, she didn’t just see her face. She saw the war raging inside