She slips out, and the door clicks shut.
Silence settles again, not heavy, but waiting.
I walk to my backpack. My fingers find the side pocket and the tiny, folded square of paper he placed in my palm.
White lined paper. Folded neat. My name on the outside in his handwriting.
Catalina.
Holding my breath, I open it.
Dearest Catalina,
I do not know how to start this without getting it wrong, so I will start plain and true.
I am sorry. Truly sorry. I hurt you, and that is the last thing I ever wanted.
From the first moment I saw you, all I wanted was to be near you. To keep you safe. To look after you. Being with you did not feel new. It felt like something I had been waiting for all my life. My world finally made sense when you walked into it.
I know I should have told you the truth sooner. I just did not know how to say it without risking losing you before I ever really had the chance to have you. I was a coward about that, and I regret it every minute.
Talking to you on Veil was the easiest thing I have ever done. No noise. No judgment. No past hanging over me. You saw mefor who I am. You made it safe to be myself. I have not had that in years, and I held onto it like a lifeline.
After the Houston trip, when you mentioned you had spent time with your family, with your sister, I realized it was you on Veil, and I thought I would find the right moment to tell you. I pictured us laughing over the madness of it all, saying the universe must have had a hand in it. Maybe it did. Maybe it still does.
When you told me you were falling for someone, it took the breath straight out of me. Because I was falling too. Hard. And I did not know how to tell you it was me without frightening you off, without making you feel tricked. I wanted the real version of me to earn you. I wanted you to choose me because you felt it too. I was terrified of losing you before we even started.
I know trust does not rebuild itself with words. It is earned with time and honesty and steady hands. I am not pretending I handled this the right way. I did not.
But I need you to know that every word I have ever said to you, on Veil or standing in front of you, has been real. Every late night, every message, every quiet moment. I have never lied about what I feel for you. You are the first person I have wanted to give all of myself to in a long, long time.
I do not expect forgiveness overnight. You have every right to protect your heart. But I do not want to lose what we found. I do not want to lose you. I will do whatever it takes to earn your trust again, for as long as it takes.
I miss you more than I know how to say. And I am here, ready to prove that this is real and worth fighting for.
I am not letting go unless you tell me to.
If you give me the chance, I will spend my days earning yours. And if you say no, I will thank God I ever got to love you at all.
Always,
Roger
Leatsa, anois is go deo.
Do chroí. Do rún.
(Yours, now and forever. Your heart. Your beloved.)
I do not realize I am crying until a tear slips off my jaw and falls onto the paper.
I read the last line again, slower this time, like the words will settle differently if I give them room.
Do chroí.
Your heart.
The letter trembles in my hands. I hold it as though it is something fragile and press it against my chest. It’s warm from my palms and heavier than it should be. Every word he wrote has settled into my ribs and refuses to leave.
