CHAPTER 3 – The First Crack
Amara didn't mean to listen.
She was standing in her kitchen, mug in hand, waiting for the kettle to click off, when the sound drifted through the wall, low at first, then sharp enough to make her still.
A voice. Male. Familiar.
Kieran.
He wasn't talking loudly, but the apartment walls were thin in the way older buildings always were, pretending at privacy while offering none. His words came broken, uneven, like pieces slipping through a crack.
"I said I'd handle it," he muttered. "I know. I know."
Amara froze, fingers tightening around the mug.
She told herself to move. To turn on the tap, to put on music, to do literally anything else. Instead, she stood there, rooted, listening without meaning to.
There was a pause on the other side of the wall. Then a sharp breath.
"No, I'm not running from it," Kieran said. "I just need time."
Time for what?
The kettle clicked off, loud and abrupt. Amara flinched as if she'd been caught doing something wrong. She rushed to pour the water, the motion clumsy, nearly spilling it onto the counter.
This was none of her business. She knew that. They were neighbors; barely even that. Two strangers sharing a building, a wall, nothing more.
Still, the tension in his voice lingered with her long after the kitchen fell quiet again.
Later that evening, she saw him.
She was coming back from the small grocery store down the street, arms full with a bag that was heavier than she'd expected. The sun had dipped low, painting the sky in bruised shades of orange and gray.
Kieran stood by the entrance, keys in hand, like he'd been about to leave and thought better of it.
"Oh," he said when he noticed her. "Hey."
"Hey," Amara replied, adjusting the bag in her arms.
There was something different about him tonight. Not obvious, nothing she could point to if asked, but his shoulders seemed tighter, his jaw set in a way that hadn't been there before.
"Need help?" he asked, nodding at the bag.
"I've got it," she said automatically, then immediately regretted it when the bag shifted and one of the handles dug painfully into her palm.
Kieran didn't comment. He just stepped forward and took the bag gently, ensuring she didn't drop anything in the process.
"Right," he said lightly. "Of course you do."
She shot him a look, but there was no edge in it. "I didn't say I don't appreciate help."
"Good," he said. "Because I'd already committed."
They walked inside together. The stairwell smelled faintly of dust and something floral, maybe detergent from one of the other apartments. Their footsteps echoed as they climbed.
It was quiet between them, but not uncomfortable. Not yet.
At her door, Kieran handed the bag back.
"Thanks," she said.
"Anytime."
She hesitated, then added, "You okay?"
The question slipped out before she could stop it. She hadn't planned to ask. Hadn't even realized she'd noticed something was off until the words were already there.
Kieran paused.
For a split second, his expression shuttered, something closing behind his eyes. Then he smiled, quick and practiced.
"Yeah," he said. "Just one of those days."
Amara nodded, though the answer didn't quite sit right. "Those days seem to be a lot of days lately."
The smile faded a little. Not gone, just thinner.
"You've been observing," he said.
"Thin walls," she replied before thinking.
The words landed heavier than she intended.
Kieran's gaze sharpened. "You hear everything?"
"No," she said quickly. "I mean---no. Not everything. Just… sound travels."
There it was. The first real crack. A moment stretched too thin to be ignored.
He studied her, unreadable. Then he let out a quiet breath.
"Guess I should apologize in advance," he said. "For the noise."
"You don't have to," Amara said. "I wasn't listening, I mean. I just… overheard."
He nodded slowly, accepting the correction without comment.
"Well," he said after a moment, "if I start yelling at the walls, feel free to knock."
She laughed despite herself. "I'll keep that in mind."
He lingered for another second, as if considering something, then stepped back toward his own door.
"Good night, Amara."
"Good night, Kieran."
She watched him go, the echo of his footsteps following her even after her door closed.
Sleep didn't come easily.
Amara lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the interaction in her mind. The way his voice had sounded earlier. The way he'd smiled like it was armor.
She recognized that kind of smile.
She rolled onto her side, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.
This was exactly why she'd promised herself not to get involved. New city, new start, clean lines. No emotional detours. No curiosity that led to attachment.
And yet.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She reached for it, half-expecting it to be nothing, half-expecting---she didn't know what.
A message lit up the screen.
Unknown Contact:
Sorry if this is weird. I realized I never asked for your number before. It's Kieran. Hope that's okay.
Amara stared at the screen, heart doing something annoyingly fast.
She typed, deleted, typed again.
Amara:
It's okay. You didn't steal it from my mailbox or anything, right?
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Kieran:
Tempting, but no. Your landlord gave it to me. Said it was "for emergencies."
She smiled.
Amara:
And this is an emergency?
Kieran:
Absolutely. I need to know if the walls are thin enough for you to hear my microwave beeping.
She laughed quietly into her pillow.
Amara:
You're safe. For now.
There was a pause before his next message came through.
Kieran:
Earlier… thanks for checking in. Most people don't.
Her fingers hovered over the screen.
Amara:
Most people don't look like they're carrying something heavy.
Another pause. Longer this time.
Kieran:
You're perceptive.
She set the phone down before the conversation could drift somewhere neither of them was ready for.
Still, as she closed her eyes, the thought stayed with her.
She had moved here to disappear into a quieter version of her life.
Instead, she'd moved next door to a man with cracks in his voice, and walls thin enough for those cracks to reach her.
And something told her this was only the beginning.