CHAPTER 17

Voices of Doubt

"Hey, Sophia, you okay out here?" I hear Marisol say quietly as we position ourselves on the moonlit patio. Her voice is quiet, barely a whisper carried on the cool night air. "I'm just… I needed some space," I respond, my voice raw and uncertain.

Marisol leans her head to the side, her eyes locking onto starlight. "Room for what?" she breathes softly, each syllable weighing with still understanding. "For the love you remembered or for the chaos of now?".

I let out a nervous breath, the sound harmonizing with the soft whisper of the wind. "I'm caught between the love I had and the chaos of today," I confess, my voice trembling in vulnerability. "Every time I try to remember what we had, I'm pulled back into the pain of losing him. And now, with everything that's happening… I don't know where I am."

Marisol's gaze does not falter as she gently presses, "Are you sure your heart is not just clinging to shadows of what was? Sometimes we hold on to memories like they are a rope to cling to, even when they no longer manage to keep us afloat.".

I pause, letting her words sink in. "Maybe I am," I whisper, each word tinged with doubt. "Each time I close my eyes, I see his smile, hear his laughter—but then the world comes crashing back. I don't know if I'm chasing true love or just a comforting memory of the past."

Her eyes contract with quiet worry. "Sophia, you know it's only human to miss what was. But you are better than ghosts and shadows. What is it that your heart really needs?"

I run my hand along the cold stone railing on the balcony, the feel grounding me in a reality that is just out of reach. "I want to be whole again," I breathe softly. "I want to trust that what I felt wasn't a lie, that it can be real again in this tangled mess of now.".

Marisol sighs softly. “Sometimes, the truth hides in the spaces between our memories. What if you’re not meant to recreate the past but to forge something new? The question isn’t whether your heart is clinging to shadows—it’s whether you’re ready to step into the light of what could be.”

Her words stir something in me, a flame of hope struggling against the burden of doubt. "But what if that light is too blinding?" I ask, my voice shaking between fear and desire. "What if I'm so accustomed to the dark that going into it is losing part of myself?"

Marisol shakes her head, her tone resolute yet tender. "You're not measured by your scars, Sophia. They are proof that you have lived, that you've loved. But you can't allow them to determine your future. Ask yourself—do you wish to just live in the past, or do you possess the strength to begin again?"

I gaze upwards, the evening sky a tapestry of distant stars. "I find myself wondering whether what I am feeling is real," I admit hesitantly. "Is it real love, or a desperate attempt to hold on to what we shared? Sometimes every answer seems to lead me deeper into the enigma and not out of it."

Marisol leans forward, whispering softly as if sharing a secret. "It's not about arriving at an absolute answer, Sophia. It's about being honest with yourself, even if it's filthy and uncertain. Have faith that your heart contains the map, even when your mind is weighted down with questions."

I massage my eyes, weighed down by the load of all those unresolved questions. "I fear that every answer only makes the mystery worse," I answer, voice laced with desolation. "I'm afraid if I dig too deep, I will only discover nothing but more questions, more uncertainties that devour me until I have forgotten what it is to love.".

Marisol places a comforting hand on mine. "Maybe the mystery is why love is worth fighting for," she whispers. "Not every secret is ready to be unraveled at once. Sometimes, you need to let time be your compass and let the answers reveal themselves naturally.".

I slowly shake my head, absorbing her words, though the skepticism still lingers like an annoying shadow. "But what if the longer I wait, the less I get to discover what truly lies in store?" I ask, voice cracking with terror. "What if I'm doomed to wander in this purgatory, forever haunted by ghosts of what could have been?"

Her gaze pins me with mine in a depth that defies the gentleness of her voice. "So then you must learn to love that in-between, Sophia. It is in the spaces of limbo that we find most often the courage to rewrite ourselves. You are strong enough to choose, even when choices are not made at once.".

I let out a nervous laugh, acrid and uncertain. "Choose… It's so simple when you say it, but every time I try to do it, I feel like I'm stepping into nothingness, where every answer only brings more questions."

Marisol squeezes my hand. "It's all right to be afraid. It's all right to not know. The heart becomes messy, and sometimes love is as much a question of uncertainty as certainty. What is important is you don't get lost in the journey."

I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with the bite of night air. "I want to believe that, I really do," I breathe softly, barely louder than a sigh. "But sometimes the terror of being unable to locate the truth paralyses me. Each time I believe I'm close to discovering an answer, it drifts away from me like grains of sand running between my fingers."

Marisol's reply is low-key, but it resonates. "Maybe you don't require a flawless answer, Sophia. Perhaps it is sufficient to believe that the trip itself is worthwhile, even though the end result is still covered in doubt.".

Her words echo in my mind as I grapple with the inner struggle raging within me. "I am afraid every solution only further clouds the mystery," I'm caught saying nearly in a whisper, the admission suspended in the quiet of the night. "I'm so concerned about trying to sort out what is real and what is a comforting illusion that I worry I'll miss the chance to truly live."

Marisol pauses, her gaze soft and empathetic. "At times, the most authentic love is in not knowing," she says softly. "It's wild and unpredictable, but it's also raw and true. Don't let the unknown rob you of the beauty that resides in the mystery.".

I search her face for reassurance, and in that moment I realize perhaps the answers are not tidy or explainable. "I'm afraid," I confess, voice shaking, "that I reach out for an answer and I end up with more questions, more doubt. It's like I'm caught in this loop, and the more I try to break free, the deeper I fall."

Marisol's hand on my hand becomes a touch firmer. "Then back away, Sophia. Let yourself rest in the not knowing for a moment or two. Sometimes the heart has to let itself sort through the chaos before it can even finally choose a direction to move."

I slowly nod, the burden of her words settling over me like a fragile blanket. "I just don't know if I'm in love or clinging to a ghost," I breathe softly, voice almost inaudible, the unhiding vulnerability in my voice undeniable. "What if everything I've ever believed was all an illusion, a soothing lie I've told myself so I can live?"

Her quiet conviction-filled eyes gaze back at me. "Perhaps the illusion was what saved you, but it doesn't necessarily have to define you for the rest of your life," she says gently. "The truth, though painful, is the only one thing that will free you."

I close my eyes, the silence between us screaming its own truth. The night wears on, each passing second burdened with the unspoken questions and fragile hopes. "I fear every answer deepens the mystery," I state once more, the words a desperate prayer to the universe for comprehension.

Marisol's voice is barely a whisper today. "And what if the mystery is exactly what you must create, to discover parts of yourself you never knew you had?"

I roll over, and I open my eyes to the uncertainty that continues to burn within me like a fire that will never be satiated. "I… I don't know, Marisol. I'm so scared that every answer will move me farther from who I'm meant to be."

She smiles gently, her voice warm despite the chill of the night. "Then leave the mystery. Have faith that your heart will lead you, even if the way isn't clear at the moment."

As our conversation drifts away into a contemplative quiet, I'm left with questions, not answers. The moon casts a silver light down upon us, and in the quiet of that moment, I sense the fragile pull of doubt—a promise that the journey is far from over.

"Will the whispers of doubt finally give way to a truth worth holding on to, or will all answer only scratch at the threads of what I once believed sacred?"