Submitting to my Ex Uncle-Chapter 232

Amara picked up a sea-green book from her pile of books arranged. She froze when she held the book.

Maps of the Quiet Places was the name of the book. The one Elias had gifted her in the past.

Her fingers brushed over the cloth cover, slow and deliberate, tracing the gold-embossed title as though she could still feel the warmth of his hand when he’d passed it to her.

The air in the apartment still smelled faintly of rain. She hadn’t opened the windows since last night. She hadn’t needed to. The scent had lingered, the same way his voice had.

She turned the book over in her hand and set it down gently, afraid the sound might shatter the quiet. Then she reached for her glass of water on the table, lifted it slightly, and without even thinking, she tapped her finger twice along the rim before bringing it to her lips.

The same way she always did.

The same way he’d noticed.

The same way he’d said it.

"You tap your cup twice before you drink." His voice replayed in her memory.

She froze halfway through the sip. Her lips hovered just above the rim. The memory was so clear, that it didn’t even feel like remembering. It felt like he’d just said it.

It was only a day since she last saw him. A day since she last felt the softness of his lips, and the gentleness of his touch.

Amara set the glass down quietly. The silence in the apartment wasn’t empty. It was full of him.

The warmth in his tone when he’d said her name played around her. She could almost hear it now.

"Amara."

She blinked, her eyes flicking toward the empty doorway.

Of course, no one was there.

But her pulse betrayed her anyway.

It was ridiculous, she told herself. People didn’t haunt spaces after one day. Memories, maybe, but not people. And yet, Elias didn’t feel gone. Not really. He felt like he was somewhere between the last raindrop and the next breath.

She opened Maps of the Quiet Places.

The first page had a pressed leaf between it. She couldn’t remember putting there. Maybe she had, or maybe it had come with the book. She couldn’t tell anymore.

Her eyes skimmed the first poem.

"There are rooms in the heart no one enters without permission."

She stopped there. Because that was him. Elias had entered quietly, without asking, and she’d let him.

She closed the book slowly.

The apartment felt too still, and too aware.

She rose, barefoot, crossing to the window. The glass was cold beneath her palm. The city outside was gray and wet.

She leaned her forehead against the glass.

She shut her eyes.

Her mind replayed fragments. She remembered the smell of spiced tea, and his hand brushing hers when he’d handed her the paper bag.

She could feel the ghost of it now. His presence felt like a heartbeat in the air.

Amara turned away from the window and went back to the table. The tea she’d made had gone cold, untouched. She lifted the mug anyway.

She unconsciously did her usual two soft taps on the rim, then a sip.

It was bitter.

She almost laughed at that. Of course, it was bitter.

She picked up a pen and a notebook from the pile beside the couch. The pen hovered above the page. She thought maybe she could write again. Something small, just a few words to empty out the weight sitting in her chest.

However, when she tried, the words that came out of her weren’t hers. They were his.

"You just have to decide if you want to wait for it to move or write around it."

Elias had said that. Those words he said about life replayed in her head. He had said those words when she mentioned about how it always got in the way.

Her throat tightened.

She set the pen down.

It wasn’t just the memory of his voice she had to deal with. She also had to deal with the feeling of being seen.

No one had ever looked at her that way before. Like he’d noticed things others didn’t even know existed. Like her tapping the rim of her cup twice before a sip, or the way her eyes lingered on books she wasn’t brave enough to buy.

He saw her. And now, without him, everything felt too visible and too empty all at once.

She sat back on the couch and opened Maps of the Quiet Places again. Her eyes fell on another poem.

"We don’t lose people. We lose the versions of ourselves that existed when they were here."

Her breath hitched softly.

That was exactly it.

She wasn’t missing Elias alone. She was missing the her that had existed when he was around.

Her phone buzzed on the table, startling her.

It was a text. From Celeste.

"You okay, love?" the message read when she picked up her phone.

Amara stared at the message for a long time before typing back. "Yeah. Just writing."

She wasn’t writing. But somehow, it felt like she was. Those feelings she couldnt put down now felt like the beginning of something that could turn into words.

She closed her eyes and leaned back, letting the room fill with its own silence again.

Elias would hate that she wasn’t eating. He’d probably tease her about surviving on tea and grief, while he forcedully step into her life. He’d probably tilt his head, with that soft smile tugging again, and say something like; "You can’t write if you forget to live."

Her lips trembled.

"Then come and remind me," she whispered to the empty room.

The sound of her voice startled her. It sounded too raw, and too honest. She really needed him.

She laughed softly under her breath. Her eyes got filled with tears. "I’m talking to air now. Perfect."

Still, she didn’t move.

The book rested open on her lap, her thumb pressed between its pages. The words blurred, but she didn’t need to read them. She knew them by heart already.

A lone tear left her eye and soon, another joined. And then, more followed.