Chapter 4: Fractures Beneath the Surface
1029 Words
The days after the engagement ceremony unfolded like slow pages of a story Selina hadn’t agreed to read. Meetings, project deadlines, and back-to-back investor calls tried their best to swallow her attention, but something beneath her skin had shifted—and shifts like that never stayed hidden for long.
One Thursday morning, Selina arrived at the office earlier than usual. Not because she had a meeting, but because her dreams had been restless. In them, voices argued in dim corridors: her parents, old board members, faceless crowds whispering from the corners of darkened rooms. And always, Damien’s silhouette at the end of the hallway, holding something fragile she never quite reached.
She took her coffee black and bitter, just like always. But when she entered the elevator, Mai glanced sideways.
“Didn’t sleep?”
Selina offered a small shrug. “New contracts. New nightmares.”
Mai smiled tightly, choosing not to probe.
But Selina knew she didn’t have to say it aloud. Her mind was louder than ever lately.
Meanwhile, Damien had just finished overseeing the final concrete pour on a boutique housing project on the edge of District 7. Dust clung to his sleeves. He loved moments like this—the rawness of creation before marketing took over, before walls were painted, before windows framed the world.
But as his crew packed up and laughter drifted through the scaffoldings, he checked his phone again.
Nothing.
Still nothing.
Since their last quiet night together—fingers intertwined, neither of them daring to call it anything—they had shared only silence.
Not an angry one.
Just a space so still it rang in his ears.
That evening, Selina met her mother at a bistro tucked inside a converted colonial house. It was her mother’s choice—a mix of East and West, traditional enough to impress but modern enough to avoid scrutiny.
They sat near the window, the garden lights outside flickering like hesitant fireflies.
Uyen ordered for both of them.
“You’re pale,” she observed gently.
“I work long hours.”
“And dream long nights?”
Selina paused. “Something like that.”
Her mother placed her chopsticks down. “I heard from Aunt Minh that Damien’s mother is speaking to the district women’s committee. Subtle things. About you.”
Selina felt her spine go rigid. “Let me guess. I’m ambitious, impolite, and from a broken home.”
“She didn’t say broken. She said unrooted.”
Selina laughed, a cold, hollow sound. “That’s rich, coming from people who’ve never once tried to know me.”
Uyen looked at her daughter, not with judgment, but with something closer to guilt.
“I should’ve protected you better from that narrative.”
“No one protects anyone. We survive.”
“You don’t always have to.”
Selina didn’t answer.
Later that night, in her high-rise apartment where the floor-to-ceiling windows watched over the city like sentinels, Selina stared at the painting Damien had given her.
"The Space Between."
It wasn’t just a gift. It was a mirror.
A breath she hadn’t allowed herself to take.
She sat on the couch with her laptop open and reread an old email draft she had never sent—one written to her father three years ago, asking for closure. She had typed it, hovered, and then deleted it entirely.
What would closure even look like now?
Before she could spiral further, her phone rang.
Damien.
She hesitated. Then answered.
“I was starting to think you blocked me,” he said softly.
“I almost did.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because you’d probably show up anyway.”
He chuckled. “You’re not wrong.”
A pause.
“You okay?” he asked.
She bit her lower lip. “Define ‘okay.’”
“Not drowning. Not hiding.”
“I’m hiding, then.”
He exhaled. “Can I see you?”
She wanted to say no. She wanted to stay in the safe gray world where silence shielded her from needing.
But what escaped her lips was: “Tomorrow.”
They met at an old riverside café the next evening. Low lighting. Quiet jazz. Enough privacy to pretend the world didn’t exist for a little while.
Damien had already ordered for both of them: jasmine tea and bánh xèo.
“You remember,” she said, sliding into the booth.
“I remember everything,” he replied.
She looked down. “Your mother doesn’t like me.”
“I’m not marrying my mother.”
Selina’s eyes met his. “But you’re part of her world. She’s part of yours.”
He didn’t argue. Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a letter.
“What is this?” she asked.
“A contract proposal. Between us.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“It’s blank,” she said, flipping through the pages.
“You get to define it. The terms. The timelines. The risks. No pressure. Just presence.”
Selina stared at the paper. It was a stupid metaphor.
And yet, her throat tightened.
“You’re serious?”
“I’ve never been more.”
“Even if it means losing the ease of your family’s approval?”
He smiled. “I never asked them for permission to breathe.”
Her fingers trembled slightly as she held the pen he offered. She didn’t write. But she didn’t set it down either.
For the first time in years, she was choosing not to run.
Not yet.
Later that night, Damien walked her back to her apartment. They didn’t speak much, but their hands brushed more than once.
Outside her door, she turned to him.
“I don’t promise forever,” she said.
“I’m not asking for it.”
“I can be impossible.”
“I like puzzles.”
“I build walls.”
He leaned in, voice a whisper. “Then let me plant a window.”
She looked at him like she was deciding whether to risk the fall.
Then slowly, her hand reached out and unlocked the door.
Not for him to step in.
But for her to begin opening.
To be continued...
- Writer
