Chapter Two : Hearted
Whitney had been feeling unusually weak for the past two days. Neither her best friend Debbie nor her mother Becky knew about her condition. She had subjected herself to so much stress recently, and it finally took a toll on her. Choosing to rest, she withdrew from all activities and remained indoors, sleeping almost the entire time.
Meanwhile, Lincoln had been thinking about Whitney a lot. Following Eric's strict advice on how to approach her carefully, he finally decided to call her. The first call went unanswered. He tried again, and when she still didn't pick up, he felt disheartened.
Frustrated but determined, Lincoln decided to check on her in person. As he approached her apartment, he noticed the front door was slightly ajar, which made him suspicious. Quietly, he moved closer to peek inside.
To his shock, Whitney lay naked on the couch in the living room. Though she was aware the door was open, she seemed too tired to care. Lincoln stood frozen for nearly a minute, his body trembling with fear and disbelief at what he saw. Her beauty overwhelmed him, but fear of getting caught quickly snapped him out of his trance. He left as quietly as he had arrived, slipping away unnoticed.
Later, Whitney discovered the half-open door and, startled, rushed to close it, slamming it shut in anger. Unbeknownst to her, Lincoln had been hiding in the thick flower bushes nearby, paralyzed with nervous energy. When he heard the door slam, he flinched but didn't run. Something told him to wait.
Gathering courage, Lincoln stepped out from hiding and walked confidently to the door. He knocked gently. Getting no response, he rang the bell. To his surprise, a strange sound echoed from inside—an odd animal-like noise that stopped each time he released the button. Intrigued and puzzled, he rang again, only for the same sound to repeat.
Just as he turned to leave, Whitney cracked the door open and peeked out.
"Hey, Whitney!" he greeted cheerfully.
"Lincoln! Please, come in," she replied with a faint smile.
He entered and sat on a small couch while Whitney took a seat opposite him. Her voice was weak, and one of her eyes looked slightly red.
"You don't look well," Lincoln said gently.
"You're right," she replied, trying to smile.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked.
"No, but thank you," she said, her tone sincere but drained.
Lincoln felt like he was dreaming. A thousand thoughts rushed through his head—he couldn't shake the idea that maybe she was suffering from the pain of unspoken love for him. Of course, it was only his imagination, but it gripped him nonetheless.
Whitney slowly got up and lay down on a longer couch, closing her eyes as if he wasn't even there. Lincoln sat, torn between desire and restraint. Then, unintentionally, he muttered his thoughts aloud.
"Should I move closer to her?"
"Should I kiss her lips?"
"Should I cuddle her?"
He didn't realize he had spoken out loud until Whitney responded softly, "Yes, do… if you can."
Startled but emboldened, Lincoln moved closer and gently wrapped his arms around her. She didn't resist. Instead, she leaned into his embrace, her head resting peacefully on his chest. It felt natural, healing—even magical.
Just then, the doorbell rang—once, twice, three times—but Whitney didn't hear it. Only when a persistent knock followed did she rise and go to the door.
"Oh! Debbie, good to see you!" she said as she opened the door.
Debbie entered with a bright smile, lighting up the room. She wasn't surprised to see Lincoln—she had always suspected there was something between him and Whitney since their high school days.
Debbie's visit was to remind Whitney about their upcoming trip to Texas, scheduled in three days. Lincoln, sensing the shift in atmosphere, grew uneasy. He felt out of place now that the moment had been interrupted.
"You're heading out?" Whitney asked.
"Yeah," Lincoln replied, standing up and patting both of them lightly on the back before walking toward the door.
Whitney understood why he was leaving, but Debbie didn't suspect a thing. The two friends were now alone, free to discuss their plans—and perhaps a little more