“It was foolish. A challenge. Adonis said she wouldn’t open up to anyone, and I—” I took a sharp breath. “I just wanted to prove I could. I didn’t know her. I didn’t know myself. Not like this.”
“And now?” my mom prompted gently.
I lifted my gaze to meet hers. “Now I think I’m in love with her.”
She didn’t blink. There was no surprise in her eyes. Instead, they softened, just like they did whenI was ten and scraped my knee, trying to act tough despite the pain.
“Oh, honey,” she said, her voice warm. “Of course you are.”
I blinked, taken aback.
“You’ve always been careful with your heart. But I’ve seen the way you talk about her. The way your face lights up when her name comes up. And how you’ve been trying so hard not to admit it—even to yourself.”
My throat tightened, that familiar sensation creeping in when something long buried finally comes to the surface.
“She makes me want to be better,” I whispered.
“Then be better,” she said simply. “But be honest. Because love without honesty isn’t love—it’s just a performance. And you’ve never been one to play pretend.”
“I don’t want to hurt her,” I confessed. “She’s been through so much already. I just wanted to show her she was more than that. That she mattered to someone.”
“And maybe she already does,” my mom replied. “But if she finds out the truth from someone else, after she’s given you everything—her trust, her heart—it’llfeel like you saw all of her and still chose to keep the truth hidden.”
Her words hit hard, like a punch to the gut, because deep down, I knew she was right.
“You’re not afraid of losing her,” she added softly. “You’re afraid she’ll see you the way you see yourself.”
I pressed my palm against my eyes, trying to hold back the tide of emotions.
“And I’m telling you,” she whispered, reaching across the table to cover my hand with hers, “you are so much more than your mistakes. More than the walls you’ve built to survive. But she won’t believe that unless you do. And unless you trust her enough to let her see all of you—even the messy parts.”
“She deserves more than what I’ve done.”
“She deserves your truth. That’s all she’s ever needed.”
I locked eyes with her, my heart thudding like a drum in my chest.
“And what if she walks away?”
My mom squeezed my hand gently.
“Then you let her,” she said. “Because love isn’t about holding on so tight that you suffocate it. It’sabout giving someone the choice to stay—and being worthy when they do.”
I fell silent after that.
There was nothing left to say.
Only something left to do, and it began with a truth I had been running from for far too long.
The house was still. Only the distant hum of the dishwasher and the faint creak of the floor beneath my boots broke the quiet as I climbed the stairs.
My mom’s words clung to me like a second skin.
"She deserves your truth."
I opened the door to my room and shut it behind me with a quiet click. The familiar silence greeted me. Clean, neat, efficient. My desk, my books, my weapons locked away behind cabinet doors. Nothing out of place.
Except me.
