Page 18 of Shattered Obsession

We stand here for a few minutes in a quiet but comfortable silence before he breaks it to say, “I know it’s early and it’s our first date, but I just feel like it’s the right time.”

My heart skips a beat at the knowing feeling of the words to come.

“I love you.”

I thought I would feel like an anxious mess if I ever heard those words. Instead, it feels like a small spark, like the stereotypical butterflies in my stomach.

I know it’s way too early for this, but something about Xander is different. Maybe it’s a response to the trauma and I’m hanging on to the one positive thing in my life, or maybe he’s just the one I’m supposed to end up with—I guess I will find out.

So, I respond with the three little words that once felt impossibly distant.

“I love you.”

He tugs me into a hug, wrapping me in a cocoon of warmth as we share this moment.

Once we say goodbye, I walk inside my apartment to find Isla staring at me from the couch. The second I close the door, she says, “Spill. I want to know everything.”

The words excitedly tumble out. I tell her that he was so sweet and so incredibly nervous, that he paid for everything, and that we talked about so many things. I show her the book I got and the bear that we built together.

“I have a good feeling about him,” she says as she gets up to go home. We say goodbye, and she leaves me with the butterflies in my stomach.

I have a shower and find my dog, Bella, snoozing on my bed. My phone lights up, and I already know who it is before I check.

Xander

I’m home and getting ready for bed. I had fun today. Goodnight.

Thalia

I had fun too. Goodnight.

Weeks slide by, each day punctuated by a flurry of messages that bridge the distance between me and Xander. I go back to attending my classes at university after taking a break. It feels good to regain normalcy, like I’m finally putting the assault behind me.

Our days start to map around each other in small, invisible ways.

He wakes up at seven a.m. but doesn’t send me a good morning text until I wake up for class at 9 a.m. Between my first and second classes, I get a text to tell me that he’s having his lunch, and he’ll ask me how my day’s going. When I get home, I focus on studying until he calls me to tell me he’s finished work, and the conversation flows easily from there.

Every tiny routine becomes a thread stitching my life back together.

Yet sometimes I catch myself rereading the messages hours later, afraid they’ll vanish, afraid he will.

Fear has a long memory. The rhythm of routine helps the days go by quickly—classes, lunch, home, study, and finally, dinner. Even the nights start to blur together, soft and ordinary in the best way. Sometimes we talk until dawn, our messages looping into quiet confessions about nothing and everything. Childhood memories, fears that sneak in at 2 a.m., favorite songs that feel like secrets. I find myself smiling at my phone more than I ever thought possible. Even the silence between texts feels different now, less like absence and more like rest. Every conversation becomes a thread in a tapestry I didn’t know I was weaving, a small defiance against the loneliness that used to live here.

Isla still checks in, meeting me for lunch occasionally when our class schedules intersect or coming over for dinner with her dog, Bailey, so the girls can play. It’s been really helpful, the routine and having Isla and Xander to talk to and vent when needed. It makes my life feel less empty than it had and gives me something positive to look forward to each day. Yet, amidst this newfound certainty, my fears lurk like shadows. Any subtle shift in his tone sends me spiraling into anxiety. An unread message lingers and panic bubbles.

We’re okay, right?

Did I say something wrong?

Is he abandoning me?

The self-doubt claws at my mind—I ask too often and apologize too much, the words spilling out before I can catch them.

“I’m sorry.”

“I love you.”

“I don’t want to ruin this.”