Chapter 5: Lines We Cross
1073 Words
He stepped inside without waiting for me to say anything.
I closed the door behind him, my hand still on the knob, heart thudding like it wanted to run away.
He turned to face me, eyes darker than usual.
“We can’t keep doing this,” he said.
I blinked. “Doing what?”
“This,” he gestured between us. “The back-and-forth. The silence. The pretending.”
I folded my arms, suddenly defensive. “I’m not pretending anything.”
“You act like nothing happened. But you look at me like everything did.”
That shut me up.
Because he was right.
And I hated that he could still read me like that, like I was a book he’d already memorized.
I looked away, trying to control my voice. “What do you want me to say?”
“That you still feel it too.”
He stepped closer, his voice soft but sure.
“That you’re just as confused. Just as pissed off. Just as stuck.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Of course I’m confused. One minute you’re hot, the next you’re cold. You flirt, then you freeze. You look at me like you want me, then act like I don’t exist.”
He didn’t speak for a second.
Then he said, “Because I do want you. That’s the problem.”
That broke something open in me.
Because I wanted him too.
Too much.
I didn’t realize I was crying until he reached out and wiped a tear off my cheek.
“I don’t know how to do this, Sofia,” he said, voice raw. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone at work. About anyone, period.”
I laughed softly, bitter. “You think I know how to do this? I’ve been winging it since day one.”
“Then maybe we wing it together.”
That was all it took.
I didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly his lips were on mine again, and it was messy and desperate and so damn real.
We stumbled toward the bed, not bothering with words anymore.
The second time with him was slower. Less rushed. More like we were trying to memorize every inch of each other.
And in the quiet after, with my head on his chest, I didn’t ask what this meant.
Because I was scared of the answer.
---
The Cebu trip went on.
Meetings during the day, secret touches at night.
We were careful in front of everyone else—always a safe distance apart, always neutral.
But alone, we were a mess of whispered moans and soft gasps.
I told myself it was just for now.
Just this project.
Just until we got back to Manila.
But he kept doing things that made my heart flutter. Like ordering extra coffee during meetings just for me. Or brushing his hand against mine under the table. Or texting me cheesy one-liners when I looked too serious.
He was a walking contradiction.
And I was falling for it.
Falling for him.
Hard.
---
One night, it rained.
The kind of rain that made the whole city slow down.
We ordered room service. Ate dinner in my room while watching a terrible movie. He sat close, his leg brushing mine, like he couldn’t help it.
Then, mid-laugh, he turned serious.
“Have you ever been in love?” he asked.
The question caught me off guard.
I shook my head. “No. You?”
He hesitated. “Once. Thought I was. Turns out I was just…lonely.”
I nodded slowly. “Same.”
We sat in silence for a moment.
Then he whispered, “This feels different, though.”
I didn’t say anything.
Because I didn’t want to ruin the moment with reality.
But in my chest, something cracked open.
And it felt a lot like hope.
---
Back in Manila, everything crashed.
The moment we stepped into the office, he turned back into Mr. Boss Man.
Professional. Cold. Distant.
And I didn’t know how to take it.
Maybe he was just protecting us.
Maybe he was protecting himself.
But all I knew was that it hurt.
More than I expected.
I buried myself in work.
Late nights, long emails, extra reports. Anything to keep my mind off him.
But every time he walked past, every time I caught a whiff of his cologne, I was back in that hotel room, tangled in sheets and kisses.
And the worst part?
I didn’t even know if I was allowed to miss him.
Because technically, he was never mine.
---
Weeks passed.
We didn’t talk.
Not really.
Just work stuff. Just safe topics.
I was slowly convincing myself to move on.
Until one Friday, Bea barged into my apartment with a bottle of wine and bad news.
“You applied for that position at my friend’s firm, right?”
I blinked. “Yeah… why?”
She looked guilty. “They called your reference.”
My stomach dropped. “Wait—what?”
“They called Julian.”
My mouth went dry. “How did they even—?”
“They saw your current job on your résumé. He picked up. Said you’re efficient, resourceful, and—his words—‘hard to replace.’”
I frowned. “That’s good, right?”
Bea winced. “Then he said he ‘couldn’t recommend you for the position at this time.’”
I felt like I’d been slapped.
“What the hell?” I whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Bea said. “He sabotaged your interview. Without telling you.”
---
I didn’t sleep that night.
Didn’t cry, either.
I was too angry for tears.
The next morning, I stormed into the office before anyone else arrived.
He was in early too—figures. Always the overachiever.
“Sofia,” he said, surprised. “You’re here—”
“You told them not to hire me?”
He froze.
I saw the guilt in his eyes.
“I had to,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t let you go.”
My heart twisted. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“I know. I just…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not good at this. But I can’t lose you.”
I shook my head. “You already did.”
Then I walked out.
This time, he didn’t follow me.
- Writer
