Chapter 12

Julie Vaz

When I got home, the house was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. My mom was still at work, and Dad wouldn’t be back until later in the evening. Normally, I liked having the space to myself—it gave me time to read or work on my writing without distractions—but today, the silence felt heavier, like it was pressing down on me.

I dropped my bag by the door and walked straight to my room, shutting the door behind me. Sitting on my bed, I let out a deep breath and stared at the ceiling. My mind was a storm of thoughts, all circling back to the same thing: Alexander Carter.

I couldn’t stop replaying the moment in the café, the way his voice softened when he told me not to listen to my fears. You’re good enough. And I can’t wait to see what you do.

The words felt like they didn’t belong to me, like they were too kind, too generous, too... much. I’d spent most of my life convincing myself that people didn’t see me the way they saw other girls—other people. And for the most part, I was okay with that. I didn’t need attention. I didn’t need grand gestures. But then Alexander came along, and it was like he saw something in me I didn’t even see in myself.

It wasn’t just his words, either. It was the way he looked at me, like he was really paying attention. Like I mattered.

I shook my head, trying to snap myself out of it. This was ridiculous. He was just being nice. That’s who Alexander was—charming, thoughtful, the kind of guy who could make anyone feel special without even trying. He probably didn’t mean anything by it.

But then I thought about the way his hand had hovered above mine, like he wasn’t sure whether to cross that invisible line between us. He didn’t have to say anything for me to know he’d been holding back.

I groaned, flopping back onto my pillows. “You’re overthinking it,” I muttered to myself.

But was I?

I reached for my phone, hesitating for a moment before unlocking it. There was no new message from Alexander, but I hadn’t really expected one. Still, I found myself opening our conversation thread anyway, scrolling back through the last few days of texts.

There it was—his mix of witty replies, one-word answers, and the occasional glimpse into the side of him most people didn’t see. Like the night he’d told me about his parents pushing him toward Yale and how he felt like he was being suffocated by expectations. That had been the first time I’d realized he wasn’t as untouchable as I thought.

I stared at the empty text box for a long moment, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard. What would I even say? Thanks for lunch? Thanks for believing in me? Thanks for making me question everything I thought I knew about you—and about myself?

None of it sounded right.

Instead, I tossed my phone onto the bed and reached for Fourth Wing. If there was ever a time to get lost in someone else’s story, this was it.

But even as I read, the words blurred together, the sentences failing to hold my attention. My mind kept wandering back to him—to his voice, his smile, the way he made me feel like I wasn’t invisible.

I closed the book with a sigh, pressing it against my chest. Maybe this was what people meant when they talked about crushes. Not the silly, fleeting kind I’d had in middle school, but something deeper, something that felt like it had the power to change everything.

The thought scared me.

It wasn’t just about Alexander—it was about me. About letting myself believe I deserved something more than just being the quiet, bookish girl who faded into the background. About trusting someone else enough to let them see the parts of me I usually kept hidden.

I didn’t know if I was ready for that.

But I also couldn’t deny that I wanted to find out.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t just thinking about the next step, the next goal, the next chapter of my life. I was thinking about us.

And that terrified me more than anything else.