The Line
Chapter 8 – The Line
Clarice posted the photo at 11:47pm.
Suyin found out at 11:48pm.
Not because she was scrolling.
Because her phone exploded.
A friend sent a screenshot.
Then another.
Then her cousin.
Then a producer she barely knew.
Then someone from a brand team.
The same image, again and again, like a stamp pressed onto her night.
Three faces.
Bright smiles.
Event lighting.
Adam beside her, close enough to look familiar.
Clarice in front, grinning like she had caught something.
The caption was worse than the photo.
OKAY BUT TELL ME THIS ISN’T A COUPLE PHOTO??? 😭💛
Under it, Clarice had tagged Adam.
And she had not tagged Suyin.
At least he had stopped that.
But it didn’t matter.
Because the comments had already found her name.
They always did.
Suyin stared at the screenshot until her stomach turned.
It wasn’t the caption itself.
It was what it meant.
Clarice hadn’t posted it as a memory.
She had posted it as a spark.
A deliberate drop of oil into a fire she didn’t have to live inside.
Suyin’s phone buzzed again.
Adam.
Saw it. Sorry. Are you okay?
Suyin’s fingers hovered over the keyboard.
She wanted to say:
I’m fine.
It’s nothing.
People will forget.
But her chest felt tight.
And she remembered his private rules.
Rule one.
No guessing.
If you’re uncomfortable, you tell me.
Suyin typed:
I’m not okay. It feels… invasive.
She hesitated.
Then added:
And I’m angry.
She pressed send before she could back out.
Her heart pounded.
She expected him to reply immediately.
He didn’t.
The typing bubble appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Suyin stared at the screen, breath shallow.
Finally, his message arrived.
Me too. I’m calling.
Her phone rang.
Adam.
Suyin answered.
“Hello?”
His voice came through, low and tight.
“Hi,” he said.
Suyin sat on the edge of her bed.
Her room was dark.
The rain outside had returned, faint and persistent.
“I’m sorry,” Adam said immediately.
Suyin swallowed.
“It’s not your fault,” she replied.
Adam exhaled sharply.
“It’s not,” he agreed. “But it’s happening to you. And I hate that.”
Suyin’s chest tightened.
She could hear something in his voice she hadn’t heard before.
Not irritation.
Not tired humour.
Anger.
Protective anger.
“I don’t know why she did that,” Suyin said, voice quiet.
Adam’s laugh was short.
“I know why,” he said.
Suyin blinked.
“Because it’s good for engagement,” Adam continued, voice flat. “Because couple content sells. Because she wants to ride the wave and she doesn’t care who gets soaked.”
Soaked.
Suyin’s throat tightened.
Outside, rain tapped against her window like punctuation.
Adam’s voice softened.
“Did your dad see?” he asked.
Suyin hesitated.
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
Adam exhaled.
“Okay,” he said. “We do something.”
Suyin’s heart stuttered.
“Do something?”
Adam’s tone turned practical.
“We draw a line,” he said.
A line.
The word made Suyin’s stomach twist.
A line between what?
Between them and the public?
Between friendship and something else?
Between control and chaos?
Adam continued.
“I’m going to message her,” he said.
Suyin’s chest tightened.
“Adam–”
Adam cut in.
“I’m not going to fight publicly,” he said. “But I’m going to tell her to stop using you.”
Suyin swallowed.
“Is that… safe?” she asked.
Adam was silent for a moment.
Then he said, quietly,
“No. But neither is letting this continue.”
Suyin’s fingers tightened around her phone.
“And if she posts about it?”
Adam sighed.
“Then she posts,” he said. “I’m tired of being polite to people who don’t care.”
Suyin’s chest warmed and hurt.
She imagined him typing.
His calm, controlled persona pressed down by anger.
She imagined Lydia yelling.
Mei panicking.
The PR machinery spinning.
She swallowed.
“I don’t want you to get into trouble because of me,” she whispered.
Adam’s voice softened.
“Suyin,” he said.
Her name again.
Steady.
He continued.
“You’re not trouble,” he said. “The situation is trouble.”
Suyin’s eyes stung.
She pressed her palm to her forehead.
The anger in her chest mixed with something else.
Fear.
Not fear of Clarice.
Fear of how much she cared about Adam getting hurt.
Adam exhaled.
“Also,” he said, voice quieter, “this is not just about you.”
Suyin blinked.
“What do you mean?”
Adam hesitated.
Then he said,
“Because if we don’t draw a line, they’ll keep pushing. And one day, they’ll push you into a corner you can’t smile your way out of.”
Suyin swallowed.
The image of Clarice gripping her arm flashed.
The sensation of being trapped.
Suyin’s breath shook.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Draw the line.”
Adam exhaled, relieved.
“Okay,” he said. “But not just with Clarice.”
Suyin’s heart stuttered.
“Then with who?”
Adam’s voice lowered.
“With us,” he said.
Suyin went still.
Her chest tightened.
“With us?” she echoed.
Adam’s voice was careful.
“We’ve been… floating,” he said. “Between public and private. Between friend and something else. And the internet keeps filling the gap with their own story.”
Suyin’s throat tightened.
Adam continued.
“I think,” he said slowly, “we need to decide what we are willing to be. For real. Not for them.”
Suyin’s heart pounded.
This.
This was the line.
Not Clarice.
Not the photo.
This moment.
She swallowed.
“Adam,” she whispered.
He waited.
Suyin stared into the darkness of her room.
Her own reflection faint in the window.
She thought of the studio.
Of her saying his name.
Of the hawker centre.
Of prata.
Of private rules.
Of his eyes dropping briefly to her lips on that sheltered walkway.
The Almost.
She exhaled.
“I don’t want to be a storyline,” she said.
Adam’s voice softened.
“Me neither,” he replied.
Suyin swallowed.
“But I also…” she began.
Her voice faltered.
Adam waited, silent.
Suyin forced the words out.
“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered.
The line went quiet.
Suyin’s chest tightened.
Then Adam’s voice came.
Soft.
“I don’t want to lose you either,” he said.
Suyin’s breath caught.
Adam exhaled.
“Okay,” he said, voice steadier now. “Then here is the line.”
Suyin held her breath.
Adam continued.
“We keep this private,” he said. “We keep meeting. We keep talking. We let it grow naturally.”
Suyin’s chest tightened.
“And?” she whispered.
“And we stop giving the public clues,” Adam said. “No more photos. No more being polite to people who want to use us. We don’t allow ourselves to be pushed into couple content.”
Suyin’s throat tightened.
“That sounds like… hiding,” she murmured.
Adam was silent for a moment.
Then he said, carefully,
“It’s not hiding if it’s yours.”
Suyin’s eyes stung.
It’s not hiding if it’s yours.
The sentence settled in her chest like a hand.
She swallowed.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Adam’s breath left him.
“Okay,” he echoed.
A pause.
Then Adam said, quieter,
“And when we’re ready… we decide. Properly.”
Properly.
The word made Suyin’s throat tighten.
Not dramatic.
Not rushed.
Not for content.
Just… real.
She nodded even though he couldn’t see.
“Okay,” she whispered again.
Adam’s voice softened further.
“Can I see you?” he asked.
Suyin’s heart stuttered.
“Now?”
Adam exhaled.
“Not in public,” he said quickly. “I mean… tomorrow. Somewhere quiet. I think we should talk face to face. Not just phone.”
Suyin swallowed.
Tomorrow.
A meeting outside the world.
The risk.
The need.
She thought of his rule two.
No obvious spots.
She thought of his rule one.
Direct.
She exhaled.
“Okay,” she said. “Where?”
Adam’s voice turned practical.
“I know a place,” he said. “There’s a sheltered walkway near a small community centre–no one goes on Sunday mornings. We can sit. Talk. If rain comes, still safe.”
Suyin’s mouth twitched.
“Of course you pick a sheltered walkway,” she murmured.
Adam laughed softly, relief in it.
“Brand consistency,” he said.
Suyin laughed too, shaky.
Then her laughter faded.
“Adam,” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
Suyin hesitated.
Then she asked the thing that had been sitting in her chest like a stone.
“Do you regret it?” she asked. “Me saying your name.”
The line went quiet.
Suyin’s heart pounded.
Then Adam’s voice came.
“No,” he said.
Suyin’s breath caught.
Adam continued.
“I regret the way people treated it,” he said. “I regret the noise. The pressure. The entitlement.”
His voice softened.
“But I don’t regret… you,” he finished.
Suyin’s eyes burned.
She pressed her palm to her mouth.
She forced herself to breathe.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Adam’s voice was gentle.
“Sleep,” he said. “Don’t scroll. And if anyone texts you nonsense, ignore.”
Suyin laughed softly through her tight throat.
“Yes sir,” she replied.
Adam’s voice warmed.
“And Suyin?”
“Yeah?”
A pause.
Then, quieter:
“I’m proud of you for telling me you’re not okay,” he said.
Suyin’s breath caught.
The simplest praise.
Yet it felt like shelter.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
Adam exhaled.
“Goodnight,” he said.
“Goodnight,” she replied.
They hung up.
Suyin stared at her dark phone screen.
Her own reflection stared back.
She felt shaky.
Not because the problem was solved.
Because something had shifted.
A line drawn.
Not in public.
In private.
A decision, gentle and firm, that their story would belong to them.
Her phone buzzed one last time.
A message from Adam.
I texted Clarice. I told her to stop. If she reacts, we handle. Together.
Together.
Suyin’s chest tightened.
She typed back:
Okay. Together.
She set the phone down.
She went to the window.
Outside, the rain was falling steadily.
Streetlights reflected on wet roads like gold threads.
She watched the water run along the edges of the pavement.
She thought of sheltered walkways.
Of how they were built for a city that knew rain would come.
Not to stop the storm.
Just to give people somewhere to keep walking.
Suyin inhaled.
She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.
Clarice might post.
The internet might explode.
Managers might panic.
But now, she had a line.
And she had someone on the other side of it.
Not as an ideal type.
Not as a celebrity.
As a person.
And that was enough to make her sleep, finally, feel possible.