Chapter 66

Chapter 66: Chapter 66

The cursor blinked at the top of the white page. Its rhythm was so steady, and it seemed like it might as well have been mocking her.

Amara sat cross-legged in the corner of her room, laptop balanced on her thighs, and her fingers poised over the keyboard. This was war to her. A word war. And she was losing.

There were four coffee cups on the floor. All from today. One was still warm, but only still warm because she’d microwaved it twice.

Her hair was in a loose braid, half of it falling apart. A pair of round glasses sat on her nose, sliding lower every few seconds. She didn’t push them back up.

She exhaled and finally typed:

"The storm came, not from the clouds, but from the silence."

She stared at it. Deleted it. Typed it again. And ended up deleting it again.

"Ughhh," she groaned, rolling onto her back. The laptop slipped off her knees and thudded on the carpet.

There usual voice inside her, the one that usually knew where the plot should twist, when the lover should walk away, or when the villain should reveal a deeper, darker reason, was gone. Just like that, it went quiet.

Her phone buzzed from her desk. A message from her mom: "Dinner will be ready by 8. Don’t skip it again."

She closed her eyes and whispered to no one in particular, "I’m trying to be a genius here. Respect the process."

It had been exactly a week since graduation. Seven days since she tossed her cap in the air, hugged Celeste until they almost cried, and promised she’d start writing her own damn story.

So far, her story has just four lines. All of them were terrible. She rolled over again, reached for her phone, and dialed Celeste.

This was the moment she needed her best friend.

It rang once.

Twice.

"Amara," Celeste answered. There was the sound of a low melody in the background.

"Are you somewhere?"

"Nope, I’m home. I’m just going through what I’d wear out tonight. You good?"

Amara sat up and pulled her laptop back into her lap. "I’m struggling."

"With?"

She breathed deeply, and sighed. "The twist. The whole second act is flat. You remember that character I told you about? The grieving girl who finds her dead sister’s letters under the floorboards?"

"Yeah."

"I want to add a twist. Like, maybe the sister isn’t actually dead, or that she’s dead, but the sister keeps seeing her and due to memory loss, she thought her sister was still alive and real. Only to find out that she was just hallucinating all through the year before she got her memory." She made a sound that mimicked tears. "But it’s not landing. Everything reads like a bad soap opera."

Celeste laughed. "You hate plot twists that feel cheap."

"Exactly! That’s the problem. I want her to think the sister died, but then the sister is actually in witness protection."

"Oh, damn."

Amara went on breathlessly. "But here’s the catch. The letters aren’t from the sister. They’re from the agent who was meant to protect her. He fell in love with her. But he never signed the letters with his real name. So the protagonist thinks they’re from her sister the whole time."

Celeste was silent for a moment. One could tell she was thinking about everything she just listened to. After some heartbeats, she cleared her throat, and said. "Amara... that could work."

"Right?" Amara agreed immediately. Then, her doubts stepped in again, and she added, "But then when I try to write it, it all comes off wrong. Like I’m trying too hard. The emotions don’t land, and the pacing is off. And don’t even get me started on the dialogue. I wrote a scene yesterday and nearly puked. It was that bad."

Celeste chuckled. "You always hate your first drafts."

"This isn’t hate. This is just the actual truth, and how it feels to be a writer."

She stood and paced her room now, laptop clutched in one hand like a baby, phone in the other. "I want this book to hurt people. In a good way. I want readers to flip pages and clutch their chests. But right now, it reads like a Wattpad fanfic written in a sugar coma."

Celeste was quiet again.

"You still there?"

"Yeah." Celeste nodded. "Just... letting you spiral."

"How generous of you."

"Always."

Amara flopped back onto her bed. "I think I need to kill someone."

Celeste’s eyes widened. "Excuse me?" Knowing Amara, she definitely would if it comes to that.

"In the story." Amara laughed. "A side character. I’m thinking about killing someone the reader likes. That’ll make the twist hit harder. Maybe the best friend."

"Typical." Celeste rolled her eyes playfully at the other end. "Kill the best friend."

"Too expected?"

"Not if you do it right. Give them meaning. Make the protagonist need them. Then rip them away."

Amara exhaled. "Okay. So maybe... the best friend finds out the letters weren’t from the sister. And the agent kills her to protect the secret."

"Whoa." Celeste exclaimed without thinking. The sudden suggestion was surprising, and a bit too brutal.

"Too dark?" Knowing how soft hearted Celeste was, she asked.

"Not for you."

Amara grinned. For the first time all day, her heartbeat calmed.

Amara stretched her arms overhead and let out a breath, the kind that released more than just air. It carried frustration, hope, and the ridiculous pressure of being twenty-two with a self-imposed deadline to write the kind of story that would make people cry in public.

She tucked her phone between her ear and shoulder, walking toward the window as she continued. "Okay, so if the agent kills the best friend, it sets up a moral dilemma. Like, the protagonist doesn’t even know what she’s chasing anymore. Truth? Justice? Closure? The sister she thinks might be alive?"

Celeste’s voice came soft through the phone. "You could use that moment as the collapse.... the part where she breaks."

"Don’t you think it’s too much?"

"No," Celeste said simply. "I think it’s finally something that sounds like you. Its messy, sharp, and human."

Amara smiled faintly. She looked outside her bedroom window. The summer dusk made everything glow in gold, and she watched as a kid rode past on a bicycle that seemed a little too big for him.

"Sometimes I worry I’ve lost it. You know? That I peaked with that short story in sophomore year and now it’s all just noise."

"You haven’t lost anything, Amara. You’re just leveling up. That’s always the messy part."

There was a pause, then Amara switched gears. "So... how’s Dominic?"

Celeste laughed softly, as if she’d been waiting for the question. "He’s Dominic. You know, he broods, and then he builds empires before breakfast."

She tsked. "Sounds exhausting."

Cekeate smiled. "Sometimes. But also... not. He’s been trying. He makes space for me. Real space."

Amara turned from the window and plopped back down on her bed. She lay on her stomach, her chin pressed to the mattress. "You guys have plans tonight?"

"Yeah. Dinner. He won’t tell me where. Probably something ridiculous and over-the-top."

"Let me guess: a rooftop somewhere with strings of lights and expensive wine that tastes like ash."

Celeste laughed. "He wouldn’t dare after last time. I made a face so awful, the sommelier nearly died."

"Power move," Amara said approvingly. "As you should."

Celeste was quiet for a beat. "What about you? Anyone special?"

Amara made a face Celeste couldn’t see, but her tone gave it away. "Ugh. Please. I might be in my men-hating phase."

Celeste chuckled. "Again?"

"I know, I know. It’s seasonal. Like allergies. But I mean it this time. I think my standards just evolved into something no one can meet." She half complained, and half embraced it.

"Or maybe you just haven’t met the right person."

"Or maybe I just want a six-month romance with a morally grey man who owns a bookstore and smells like bergamot. Is that too much to ask?" She sighed dramatically.

"Yes," Celeste said immediately. "That man only exists in one of your books."

"Then maybe I’ll date one of my own characters."

"Honestly, you’d have better luck."

Amara laughed, the sound of it was real and light. It felt good. Even through the frustration of writing and with the self-doubt that clung like a second skin, talking to Celeste always brought her back to center. Just like a reminder to her that the world wasn’t so heavy.

"Anyway," Amara said, stretching out like a cat, "thanks for listening to me rant. I’m gonna go try to wrangle these words into something readable."

Celeste’s voice was warm. "Anytime."

"And hey, have fun tonight. Try not to let Dominic order anything too expensive. We still know who we are, okay?"

"I’ll do my best," Celeste said, laughter in her voice. "He asked me to wear a black dress I really love. I’ll send you a picture."

Amara smiled at the ceiling. "Okay. Go. Before I spiral again."

"Bye, Mara."

"Bye, Les."

The call ended.

Amara tossed her phone onto the comforter and stared at the laptop still open on the other side of her bed. The cursor blinked back at her.

She whispered, "Okay, you smug little bastard. Let’s do this again." She grunted.