DOUBTS AGAIN

chapter six*

As I drove away from her that evening,

the silence in the car was deafening. The same R&B track that had filled the air on the way there now felt distant, hollow. 

I knew I'd messed up. Not in the loud, dramatic way I used to. No—this was quieter. Sharper. The kind of mistake you feel settle in your chest and stay there.

I just had to say the wrong thing.

The words had felt right in my head—romantic, intentional, even honest—but watching her face shift, seeing the hesitation creep in, I knew I'd gone too far. Too fast. 

I knew I had messed up. I'd said too much, too soon. Maybe even the wrong things. I was trying to be honest—trying to give her the part of me I don't show anyone. But now I couldn't stop wondering what she thought of me. Did she think I was intense? Unstable? Lying?

I don't even blame her.

But I wasn't. God, I wasn't.

I don't know what possessed me to say all that. Maybe I wanted her to see I wasn't playing. Maybe I wanted her to believe that something about her made me want to change—because she does. She really does. But words don't mean much when they're coming from someone like me.

I've made stupid choices. I've chased things that didn't matter and left girls more confused than I'd care to admit. Not because I'm proud of it. Not because I thought it was cool. But because I didn't know how to stay when things got real. I didn't know how to be vulnerable. I didn't know how to be enough.

There were nights I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror without seeing every person I'd hurt. I thought keeping my distance was safer—for everyone. I told myself I was doing people a favor by walking away before it got deep.

And then Catherine showed up, and suddenly, all the rules I'd made for myself didn't make sense anymore.

She wasn't loud or dramatic. She didn't try to grab my attention. She just existed, in this soft, grounded way that made me feel… steady. And for someone like me—who's always been running from the chaos inside his own head—she felt like the one thing that could make it all go quiet.

I noticed her before I ever spoke to her. The way she carried herself—quiet, but never small. She didn't try to be seen. She didn't perform for attention. She was just… there. Soft. Confident in ways that didn't scream for approval.

She made me want to slow down. Want to sit still. I hadn't felt that in years.

So I tried. I tried to do it differently this time. I gave her space when I should've reached out. I held back when I wanted to text her every night. 

I really tried to back off. For weeks, I watched from a distance. I made excuses. *She's too smart. Too steady. She's not your type. You'll ruin it.* But no matter what I told myself, I kept coming back to her. I'd scroll past her texts and then double back. I'd type replies, delete them, retype, then send something simple like *"Hey."*

Because the truth is… she scares me.

Not because she's intimidating, but because she makes me want to try. She makes me want to be a version of myself I've never really had to be.

And that's the thing—I'm not sure I know how to be him yet.

Tonight was supposed to be a step in the right direction. A real date. A new start. I even took my dad's car because I thought it might make her feel like I had it all together. But that's the thing about lies—they wear off quick. And the second I tried to get serious, to be deep and open, it turned stiff. Off.

I saw it in her eyes. The way her shoulders tensed. The way she pulled back without moving an inch. She didn't believe me—not fully. And why would she?

I handed her a necklace, hoping she'd smile. Hoping it would ease whatever tension sat between us. And she did smile—but not the way I'd hoped. It was soft, grateful… but distant.

That necklace wasn't just a gift. It was a symbol of everything I've never said out loud: *I care. I'm not here to play with you. I see you.*

Still, I couldn't stop myself from asking the question. *Do you believe in love at first sight?*

God, I hate how cliché that sounded. But I wasn't asking to be smooth. I wanted to know if she felt it too—this pull. This weird sense that something bigger than either of us was trying to happen.

But she said no.

And for a second, everything inside me froze.

I don't know what I expected. Maybe something romantic. Maybe a yes. But instead, she grounded it—said love needs time. Space. Depth.

And she's right.

She's right.

But it still stung.

Because she didn't see what I saw—not yet. Because she didn't feel it the same way, or maybe she was just smarter about it. Maybe she saw what I was too stubborn to admit: that I don't have the kind of foundation you build love on.

Still, I couldn't help myself. I told her I saw forever.

And I meant it.

Even if it scared me.

Even if it scared her.

And now I'm driving through fading light with her silence still ringing in my ears, wondering if I already broke something before it even began. Wondering if my past is too loud to let this be quiet and good.

I don't want to lose her.

But I think a part of me already knows I might.

Because no matter how much I want to be good for her... 

I'm still learning how to be good, period.

---

The sky was already dimming when I made it to Victor's hostel. The air felt thick, not with heat, but with everything I hadn't said yet. My legs moved automatically, like they already knew where I needed to be—even if the rest of me didn't.

I didn't knock this time. I just pushed the door open and stepped in quietly.

Victor was lying on his bed, hoodie on, earphones half in. His phone was resting on his chest, eyes half-closed like he'd been drifting. When he heard the door, he sat up slowly, blinking in that half-sleepy, half-aware way.

"Hey," he said, voice soft. "You came."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak right away. I set my bag down gently by the desk and just stood there, staring at the floor, unsure of how to start.

Victor pushed himself upright, feet hitting the floor, elbows resting on his knees. "That bad?"

I finally looked at him. "Not exactly. But… weird. It was weird."

He tilted his head. "Come sit."

I did. Not on the bed, but on the floor near the foot of it, my back against the wall. Something about that position made it easier to breathe. Victor sat quietly too, letting the silence stretch for a moment. It wasn't awkward. Just necessary.

"I thought I'd feel giddy," I said eventually. "Butterflies and all. And for a while, I did. The ride, the restaurant, the necklace…"

I reached into my bag and pulled it out, the silver chain tangled slightly from being stuffed in so quickly. I held it up between my fingers.

"He gave you that?" Victor asked, not touching it.

"Yeah. Right after we ordered. Said he saw it and thought of me."

Victor stared at it for a second, then looked away. "That's fast."

"That's what I said," I muttered. "And then he said… things."

"What kind of things?"

I paused. "He said he sees something long-term. Maybe even forever. That he felt something the moment he met me."

Victor stayed quiet, his face unreadable.

"And I wanted to feel flattered. I mean… I guess I did," I added quickly. "But it felt like being handed something too heavy to hold. Like… what if I drop it? Or worse, what if he's not even really giving it to *me*—just who he thinks I am?"

Victor leaned back slightly. "That's a fair question."

I looked at him. "Victor… do you know something I don't?"

He sighed, and I saw his jaw clench just a little before he answered. "There are things I know. But they're not mine to share."

"Then whose are they?"

His voice dropped lower. "His."

I hated the answer. Not because it was wrong—but because it made sense.

I folded the necklace into my palm. "So what now? I just walk around in the dark and hope I don't trip?"

"No," Victor said gently. "You walk with your eyes open. You ask questions. You watch. You *feel*. You're smart, Cat. And you've got intuition. Use it."

"But why do I feel like you're afraid to say more?"

He looked at me then, really looked at me. "Because I care about you. And I don't want to be the reason you stop trusting your own voice. I'm here to *support* you, not control how you see him."

The room went quiet again. I leaned my head back against the wall, closing my eyes for a second.

"I felt something tonight too, Victor," I said quietly. "But I don't know if it was butterflies… or warning bells."

He stood then, moved across the room, and handed me his hoodie. I hadn't even realized I was shivering.

"Just… don't silence either one, okay?" he said. "Butterflies or bells. They're both trying to tell you something."

I slipped the hoodie on and nodded.

And even though nothing had really been solved, something in me felt steadier.

Because Victor wasn't trying to rescue me. He was just making sure I knew how to swim.