I promise not to go if you promise to stay episode 1
I Promise Not to Go If You Promise to Stay
Amara had been trained to notice everything.
The flicker of a hand before a weapon was drawn. The unnatural pause in a crowded room. The shift in tone that meant danger was seconds away. Her world was built on anticipation—on preventing things before they could happen.
Love, however, was not something she had ever trained for.
So when it happened, it caught her completely unprepared.
The first time she saw Lila, she catalogued her like a file.
Name: Lila Adebayo.
Age: Twenty-four.
Status: High-risk individual due to her father’s political influence and recent threats.
She noted the way Lila moved—graceful, unaware. The way she laughed—open, unguarded. The way she stood in rooms as though nothing in the world could touch her.
That was the problem.
Everything in the world wanted to.
And it was Amara’s job to make sure nothing ever did.
At first, Lila treated her like furniture.
Not out of arrogance, but habit. Guards had always been there—silent, distant, unapproachable. They were part of the structure of her life, like walls or locked gates.
But Amara didn’t feel like a wall.
She felt like… something else.
Lila noticed it in small ways.
The way Amara’s gaze softened when she thought no one was looking.
The way her voice lowered when she said Lila’s name.
The way she stood just a little closer than necessary, as if drawn by something she refused to acknowledge.
“You don’t talk much,” Lila said one afternoon, sprawled across a lounge chair with a book she hadn’t turned a page of in ten minutes.
“I talk when it’s necessary.”
“And is it necessary now?”
“No.”
Lila smiled faintly. “I think you just don’t want to.”
Amara didn’t respond.
But she didn’t walk away either.
The tension built slowly.
Like a storm that refused to break.
It lived in their silences. In the way their eyes met and lingered just a second too long. In the way Lila began finding excuses to be near her—asking unnecessary questions, requesting her presence for things that didn’t require security.
And Amara… stayed.
Even when she didn’t need to.
The first real crack came at night.
The power had gone out across the estate, plunging everything into darkness. Backup generators hummed faintly, but large sections of the house remained dim, shadowed.
Amara moved through the halls with quiet precision.
She found Lila in her room, sitting on the edge of the bed, the faint glow of a candle flickering beside her.
“You’re supposed to be asleep,” Amara said.
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
Lila hesitated.
Then, softer than usual, “I don’t like the dark.”
Amara paused.
It was such a small confession. So human.
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
“I’ll stay until the power’s back,” she said.
Lila looked up at her, surprised. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
That was the problem.
They talked that night.
Really talked.
About things that had nothing to do with security or duty. About childhood memories. Fears. Dreams neither of them had ever spoken out loud.
The space between them shrank.
And when the lights flickered back on, neither of them moved.
“You can go,” Lila said quietly.
Amara didn’t.
“I should,” she replied.
But she didn’t.
The first touch happened without permission.
Lila reached for her wrist, almost absentmindedly, as if testing whether Amara was real or just something she had imagined into being.
Amara froze.
Every instinct told her to step back.
She didn’t.
Instead, her fingers turned slightly, brushing against Lila’s.
It was brief.
But it burned.
After that, everything changed.
There was no going back to distance. No pretending this was just a job.
The air between them grew heavy with something unspoken, something inevitable.
Until one night—
It broke.
“You’re leaving.”
Amara stood near the door again, bag packed, expression guarded.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
Lila’s chest tightened. “So that’s it?”
Amara didn’t answer.
“After everything… you’re just going to walk away?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Then explain it to me,” Lila said, stepping closer. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks very simple.”
Amara’s control slipped, just for a second.
“You think I don’t want to stay?” she snapped, voice low. “You think this is easy for me?”
“Then don’t go.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You do.”
Their breaths were close now.
Too close.
Lila’s voice dropped, trembling but certain. “Choose me.”
Silence.
Heavy. Electric.
And then—
Amara moved.
She closed the distance in a single step, her hand rising to Lila’s face as if drawn there by something stronger than will.
For a moment, she hesitated.
“Tell me to stop,” she whispered.
Lila shook her head.
“Don’t you dare.”
That was all it took.
Amara kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle.
Not at first.
It was everything they had been holding back—weeks of tension, of restraint, of stolen glances and almost-touches collapsing into something raw and undeniable.
Lila gasped against her, hands gripping the front of Amara’s shirt,
written by Vivienne Noir
