Ink and Heartstrings

40. Between Homes, Beneath Truths

Maria's Journal Entry

June 3rd – 8:27 AM – Alan's Apartment

It's strange waking up in a place that once held magic and now holds morning routines.

I'm sitting on Alan's couch, feet tucked under me, tea in hand. He's still sleeping—he mumbles when he dreams, did you know that? Says half-poems and grocery lists. This apartment smells like books and old wood and his cinnamon coffee. It's all familiar, but now I live here. For a week, yes—but even temporary feels heavy when your heart knows permanence.

My suitcase is still half full. I can't seem to unpack it completely. It's like a part of me is still waiting for someone to call and say, "We've made a mistake, you don't belong here."

And then there's them—Mom and Dad.

They think I'm staying in a studio arranged by the company. They think Alan's a colleague. They think we reconnected here and there during my book events. And I've let them believe it.

Every time I video call, I move to the corner of the room that doesn't show the bookshelf he built for me. I angle the camera so they won't see his jacket on the back of the chair. And when they ask, "So what did you do today?" I say, "Explored the city," and leave out the part where we held hands in the park, where he brushed hair from my face at the museum café, where we slow-danced in the kitchen to a record older than both of us.

The truth is tangled. I haven't told them about us because I'm scared. Scared of their questions, their judgment, their silences.

And maybe—if I'm being honest—scared they'll see how serious it is.

Because it is serious.

I proposed to him.

Later That Morning

Alan padded into the kitchen, hair tousled, eyes still sleep-warm.

Alan: (stretching) "You're journaling again. Dangerous territory. Should I be flattered or nervous?"

Maria: (smirking) "A bit of both. You made it into paragraph four. That's prime real estate."

He leaned against the counter, sipping coffee.

Alan: "Do they know you're here? Not just here-here. I mean... with me."

Maria paused. Her mug was warm in her hands, but her chest suddenly felt cold.

Maria: "No. They think I'm renting a studio in the north end. I even photoshopped a few pictures to send last night. Staged the 'view.'"

Alan: (quietly) "Does that... hurt?"

She nodded.

Maria: "It's not about shame. It's about safety. I need time. They're protective. Old-fashioned in some ways. They'd want to know why I didn't say anything before. Why I chose you before telling them."

Alan: (gently) "I'll wait. I'm not going anywhere."

Maria: (softly) "I know. That's why I can breathe here."

June 4th – Afternoon Walk Through the City

Maria wandered solo for the afternoon. Alan had errands, and she wanted time alone—to see the city not through nostalgia, but with new eyes.

She visited the bookstore where she once sent Alan during her proposal scavenger hunt. It still smelled of pine and old pages. The same clerk was there. He didn't recognize her, but she remembered.

She walked by the river, bought a pastry she didn't need, and sat on a bench facing the water. A couple sat nearby, arguing softly in French, and it made her smile.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Elena.

Elena:
"How's the apartment? Everything okay with the neighborhood? Do you want me to send your kettle?"

Maria typed, erased, typed again.

Maria:
"Everything's fine. It's quiet, near a park. No need for the kettle—Alan already gave me one."

She hit send before she could think too hard. Maybe the small truths would lead to bigger ones. Eventually.

June 5th – First Day at the New Job

Maria walked into the office in her navy blazer, hair neatly tucked, smile ready. She was received warmly, with a mix of curiosity and cautious admiration. She already had a reputation thanks to her book event speeches. Now she had to live up to it.

The day was long but fulfilling. She left the building with sore feet and a racing mind. Alan was waiting nearby, leaning against a lamppost with two takeout boxes in hand.

Alan: "I bring dumplings. And street musician accompaniment."

A man nearby was playing the violin—not beautifully, but passionately.

Maria: (grinning) "Just what I needed."

They walked home in silence, shoulder to shoulder, dumplings warm against her hip.

June 6th – Video Call with Her Parents

Maria set up her laptop in the corner of the guest room. Alan had given her space, lighting a candle nearby before disappearing with a wink.

Elena: "You look tired. Are they working you too hard already?"

Maria: "Just the new-job jitters. Nothing a good sleep can't fix."

Richard: "Eat well. Stay sharp. And don't trust any man who says he makes good tea. They all lie."

Maria choked on her water, laughing.

Maria: "Noted. No tea evangelists. Got it."

They talked for a while longer, about unimportant things—dinners and neighbors, a new plant her mom was nurturing like a child.

Before they hung up, Elena said softly,

Elena: "I miss you. It's odd not knowing every detail anymore."

Maria: (heart tightening) "I miss you too. I'll tell you more soon. I promise."

It wasn't a lie. Not entirely.

June 7th – Journal Entry
11:48 PM

This week feels like walking a tightrope above two cities—the one I came from, and the one I'm building.

I'm living in a home that feels like love but pretending I'm somewhere else. I'm speaking my truth in boardrooms but hiding my heart in family calls.

I want to tell them.

But I want to keep this peace just a little longer.

Not because I'm ashamed. Because it's fragile. And some things, if opened too soon, wilt.

Still. I'm here. And I'm surviving.

No.

I'm living.