Chapter 6

“So tell me, why don’t you drive long distances?” I asked, leaning against the counter as Damian chopped sausages with precise, practiced movements. The aroma of buttered pasta, rich with garlic and herbs, wafted through the kitchen, making my stomach rumble. I had never had baked pasta with sausages before, but the smell alone promised it would be something worth savoring.

“Long story,” he said, laughing, his eyes glinting with some hidden amusement.

“We have all evening,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “And why are you laughing? Hope it’s not something lame?”

“No, no. It’s nothing like that,” he replied. “Give me a minute.”

He slid the pasta mixture into the oven, then turned to stand between my legs. I perched casually on the counter, beside the sink, unsure why he was hovering so close.

“What are you doing?” I asked, tilting my head.

“What?” he said, feigning innocence.

“Why are you standing here?” I clarified.

“Dunno, ‘cause I like it here?” he answered, making me laugh. There was something in the ease of his tone, a teasing lightness that made me feel comfortable despite the closeness.

“Okay, explain yourself,” I said, still smiling.

“Alright,” he began, brushing a stray hair behind his ear. “When I just started my bachelor’s, my dad got me a car. Perfect timing, right? So I thought, why not take a trip with a few friends? A proper road trip in my shiny new car.”

I nodded, intrigued, leaning forward slightly.

“We left early in the morning, and I was the designated driver,” he continued, “ it was all fun and games until my right arm cramped so badly I couldn’t move it. Totally paralyzed, like my body betrayed me. It was… horrific.”

“Oh my God,” I gasped. “Please tell me you figured something out.”

“In seconds, my entire body was cramped. I couldn’t move at all. And all I could think about was how we were probably going to die, and that it’d be my fault. My friends tried to help, but it was of no use. We ended up crashing into a roadside fast-food joint. The place wasn’t even open yet. Everyone was fine, thankfully, but I was terrified. It… it stayed with me.”

I felt the tension in his shoulders, the lingering fear in his eyes, and without thinking, I wrapped my arms around him. He hugged me back, stiff at first, then gradually relaxed.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. We stayed like that for a few moments, the heat from his body grounding me in the moment.

“I only remember waking up to my mother crying beside me,” he continued after a pause. “She and my dad assured me my friends were fine. No one was hurt. But after that… driving felt impossible. I couldn’t get into a car for a while without panic creeping in.”

“I understand,” I said softly. “I would be scared too.”

He smiled faintly and released me. “It’s fine,” he said, retrieving the golden-bubbly pasta from the oven. The smell hit me, and I practically moaned.

“Oh God,” I breathed. “It smells like heaven.

“Tastes even better,” he boasted, carrying the two plates to the living room while I grabbed water bottles. We set everything down on the dining table and sat opposite each other.

I twirled a strand of pasta around my fork and tasted it. “Mmm, it tastes good,” I said, careful not to sound overly enthusiastic. I had a habit of hiding my likes until I was sure.

“Just that?” he said, playful. “Taste it again.”

This time I took a full bite, sausages and all. My eyes widened. “Oh my God, it’s actually really good,” I admitted, rolling my eyes in disbelief.

“Told you,” he said with a grin.

“Stop smiling, it’s not that great,” I tried, but he only laughed.

“The compliments all over your face,” he said.

“What?” I asked, touching my cheeks.

“No, silly. You’re blushing,” he clarified, still grinning.

“Don’t call me silly, silly,” I teased, laughing.

“But you just called me silly too,” he shot back.

“Okay, it’s 50/50. No more silly remarks,” I said, holding my hands up. He raised his in mock surrender, and we both laughed.

We ate in comfortable silence, occasionally checking our phones, the quiet feeling far from awkward. Once we were done, he offered to wash the dishes, and I let him. I dried while he washed, feeling a quiet sense of contentment.

“Can I ask one last question for the night?” I ventured, leaning casually against the counter.

“Go ahead,” he said, concentrating on rinsing the plate.

“It’s a little intrusive,” I added.

“Is it about Ann?” His voice dropped low.

“Yes,” I admitted softly, a flicker of guilt warming my chest.

“What do you want to know?”

“How long have you two been together?”

“Three years,” he said, leaning against the counter with a sigh. “I met her in my second year, and it’s been her ever since. We’ve had a lot of fights this year. Honestly, I sensed the break-up coming.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again. I wasn’t sure how many apologies I could give before it felt meaningless, but my sympathy was genuine.

“It’s fine,” he said, smiling down at me. That smile had this way of softening everything. I felt myself mirroring it unconsciously.

“What?” I asked, half-laughing.

“You didn’t sleep here last night,” he said, his tone teasing but knowing.

“Oh…” I remembered Caleb. “I had dinner with someone,” I said, my stomach tightening slightly.

“Oh, dinner that lasted all night? I see,” he noted, a trace of amusement in his voice.

“We went home,” I added quickly, trying to smooth over the awkwardness.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“He hasn’t reached out since he dropped me off this morning,” I admitted.

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning his smile toward something more comforting. “Maybe he’s just busy,” he suggested.

“Yeah, maybe,” I murmured, trying not to let the pang of disappointment show. Something about Caleb not reaching out already felt like the subtle sting of being ghosted.

“Well, thanks for dinner. I should probably head to bed early, I have work and classes tomorrow,” I said, eager to shift the focus.

“It’s only six p.m.! Too early. Let’s watch a movie… or better yet, play a video game and drown our sad lives in pixels,” he joked, grinning.

“Ha, speak for yourself,” I said, smiling. “What game do you have in mind?”

“You don’t want a movie?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Needs too much concentration. I just want fun,” I said, excited. I didn’t know any video games, but the idea of learning something new with him was appealing.

“Which do you play? I’ll play anything,” he offered.

“What do you have?”

“PS,” he said simply.

“Okay,” I said, laughing. “I don’t know anything about playing that. The only video game I’ve ever played was Mortal Kombat when I was twelve. But I want to learn.”

“Favorite player?”

“Sonia,” I said, laughing at myself. He joined in, and soon we were both grinning.

Two hours later, Damian was laughing hysterically on the floor while I fumbled with the controls, barely able to select my player. I kept running away from the ball, hitting the wrong buttons, completely chaotic.

“You can’t keep laughing at me! I’m still learning,” I protested.

“I know, I know,” he laughed, rolling onto his side. “It’s just… hilarious that you keep running away from the ball instead of kicking it.”

I checked my phone, realizing it was getting late. “Okay,” I said, standing. “I need to sleep early. We’ll continue this another day.”

“You want to leave me here alone?” he pouted dramatically.

“I’m sorry. School and all that, I need to rest,” I replied.

“I get it,” he said, shutting off the console and stretching.

“Thanks for tonight,” I said sincerely. “For the food and the game.”

“It’s nothing. Really. Just make sure you actually go to bed, don’t let your bad mood turn this apartment gray,” he joked, grinning.

“Okay, Damian. But you better not cry yourself to sleep either, we don’t want a flood in the house,” I shot back, smiling.

“Goodnight, Ash.”

“Goodnight, Damian,” I said, letting the warmth of the night settle into my chest.

After Damian’s laughter faded and the lights dimmed, I made my way to my bed, dragging the soft weight of the day with me. My mind wasn’t on food or games anymore. It kept drifting back to Caleb. 

He hadn’t messaged. Not a text, not a call, nothing. I told myself he was probably busy, caught up with work, or distracted by a hundred other things. But a small part of me, the one that was stubborn and impatient, kept whispering that maybe, just maybe, I’d done something wrong. Or maybe he was… I shook my head, forcing the thought away. Don’t think that way. Don’t.

I rolled onto my side, the sheets cool against my skin, and tried to remember the night with Caleb without letting my mind spiral. His smile, the way he held my hand, the warmth in his gaze, his touch, all of it still lingered like an echo I couldn’t shake. I could feel the subtle pull of disappointment threading through my chest. Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he’s just… caught up.

I reached for my phone on the bedside table, tempted to check again. The screen lit up, showing nothing new. Unread messages, no missed calls. I let out a quiet sigh and set it back down. Patience, I reminded myself. He’ll reach out. Just… give it time.

Slowly, my eyelids sank lower, heavy with the weight of the day and the quiet ache of uncertainty. I didn’t have the answers tonight. I didn’t even know if I would hear from him soon. But in that quiet, in the soft cocoon of my bed, I allowed myself to drift, not fully at ease, not fully worried, just suspended between hope and doubt.

And as sleep finally began to claim me, the last thought that lingered was the subtle, stubborn hope that tomorrow would bring a message, a call, some sign that the night had been as meaningful to him as it had been to me. My body relaxed into the mattress, the hum of the city outside fading, leaving only the quiet rhythm of my own breath to guide me into the uncertain comfort of sleep.