But Does He Know You Call Me When He Sleeps Mga Nobela at Kwento

What can I do to make him stop bothering me? I couldn’t sleep properly. Whenever I closed my eyes, he was right in front of me, leaning forward, holding my cheeks. Throughout the night, I tossed and turned on the bed. I only got some sleep in the wee hours of the morning, but it was interrupted by my phone’s ringtone. I yawned, my hands wandering around for the phone. I found it buried under one of the pillows and answered the call, placing it to my ear without minding to see the caller’s name. “Who’s it?”

But he already met me, is it because I'm not attractive? When I wanted to go back to the room, suddenly my phone rang, it was from Billy, my eyes widened because it was already 12.45 am, did he know that I was thinking about him? Is that how strong the connection is? “Hello,” I said. "Hi, I thought you wouldn't pick up my phone, did I disturb your sleep?" Billy said. "Oh no, I haven't slept yet, I mean I was just about to go into the room to sleep but I'm not sleepy yet, what's wrong with calling me?" I said.

“I’m nervous to sleep with someone else because I always wake up in the middle of the night. I don’t want any of you to see me in that state.” “Let’s just hope you wouldn’t have dreams about... her, or the other one,” I said, my voice cracking as I remembered the way he told me about his dreams. “But I don’t think you’ll have one right now.” He cocked an eyebrow, eyes still not shifting away from mine. “How can you know?”

Why am I still hung up on him? Sleep eludes me for the better part of the night and when I finally fall asleep, it's almost morning. Luckily I don't have to go to work so I can sleep in. I've only closed my eyes for a few minutes- at least it feels like a few minutes- when incessant knocking wakes me up. I throw the covers away and stagger to the door with my eyes half closed. Ripping it open, I ask "What?" "Hey beautiful"

Instead, I feel cataloged. Because of course he would notice my insomnia. Of course he would solve it before I asked. That’s what he does—turns people into patterns and fixes them before they break. I switch off the machine. The silence that follows sounds too honest. He’s in the kitchen when I find him, sleeves rolled, phone face-down. Even like this—half-absent, half-effortless—he fills the room. He sees me before I speak. “Did you sleep?” “Eventually,” I say. “The gift helped.”

“You okay? You’ve seemed… distracted lately.” “I’m fine. Just tired and a little frustrated.” He smiled faintly but didn’t look convinced. “You’re having those dreams again, aren’t you?” My head snapped up. “How do you—?” “You talk in your sleep sometimes,” he said softly, taking a sip. “You call out names. Or… one name.” “What name?!” He hesitated, then said, “Jimmie. I didn’t want to say anything. Thought maybe it was part of your recovery—maybe you remembered something.”

I knew I shouldn’t call him, but I did anyway. It’d barely rung one time before he picked up. “Sweetheart?” His voice was calm and strong like always, so he was alive and well. When I didn’t say anything, he spoke again. “Talk to me, sweetheart.” There was more urgency to his voice now. “Are you okay?” Men’s voices were audible in the background like he was working, but he picked up for me anyway. It took me a second to talk, like I was still suffering from sleep paralysis. “I’m okay… I had this dream… I don’t know why I called you.”

Behind him, the apartment was chaos – dishes in the sink, books on the floor, the couch cushions pushed into a shape that suggested he’d been sleeping there instead of in the bed. The bed we’d shared. The bed that probably still smelled like both of us. The bed he couldn’t sleep in because the absence of me in it was louder than any silence. He stared at me. Not moving. Not speaking. His hand on the door and his eyes scanning my face with the expression of a man who’d been dreaming about this exact moment for fourteen days and didn’t trust his own perception enough to believe it was happening. “My mom told me you called every day.” His jaw worked. His hand tightened on the door. And when he

I slid into the backseat, still buzzing. My phone stayed silent the whole ride home. I showered, slipped into silk pajamas, and tried to fall asleep without checking my phone every five minutes. Then, at 1:47 a.m., it rang. Unknown number. I answered on the second ring. “Mira.” His voice was even lower at night, rougher around the edges. “Did I wake you?” “No,” I lied, sitting up against the headboard. “I was… reading.” “Liar,” he said, and I could hear the smile in it. “You’ve been waiting for me to call.”

His words carry a certain undertone, one that sends shivers straight to my core. "B-beautiful?" "Yes. Peaceful too. So unaware of your surroundings," "Isn't that what happens when we sleep? Or do you have spatial awareness while asleep?" He reaches out, his fingertips grazing my cheek. "I don't sleep that much." Is all he says. A wicked idea comes to my mind. I lean down, holding the sides of my face in my hands. A grin lights up my face, and I see his brows raise in slight confusion. "If you want to say something, say it."