Prologue
High school was a stage, and Catherine Rose Buenaventura often felt like the invisible stagehand. She wasn’t the lead, not even the supporting role—just the girl at the edge of every scene. Too quiet to be noticed, too round to be admired. But always present. Always watching.
It wasn’t that she lacked confidence completely. Catherine was the type of girl who knew the answers in class but never raised her hand. She was smart—some would even say brilliant—and she had a laugh that could light up a room, but she rarely let it escape. The world had taught her early that people listened more to appearances than to what was inside.
She sat near the back in most of her classes, finding solace in the quiet corner by the window. It became her comfort zone, her small world inside the chaos of adolescence. She would sketch when bored, draw characters and faces that lived only in her imagination. Most of her notebooks were filled with doodles rather than notes. Until one day, someone sat beside her.
Jamie Hernandez.
The moment he dropped his bag next to hers, she felt her entire world tip over. Jamie wasn’t the most handsome boy in school—but he was the kind who could smile at anyone and make them feel like the only person in the room. He had that laid-back charm, always running late, always forgetting assignments, but somehow teachers liked him and friends flocked to him. His messy hair and sun-kissed skin made him look like he belonged at the beach rather than a classroom.
“Hi,” he said that first day, offering her a grin that made her heart do something she had no name for.
“Hi,” she replied, blinking more than necessary.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” he asked, even though he was already half-seated.
“No, not at all,” she murmured.
From that day on, Jamie always sat beside her. And every day after that, he talked to her. About everything. About how he hated Chemistry and loved P.E., how he had a little sister who annoyed him, how his parents fought a lot but somehow stayed together. Catherine listened—always listened—and occasionally offered quiet opinions, which Jamie always seemed to appreciate.
They became friends. Real friends. He would save her a seat at lunch. They’d work on projects together. They even had a notebook they passed between each other with random doodles, song lyrics, jokes, and stories. She called it their friendship journal. Jamie called it their escape pad.
But every time Jamie would casually talk about some girl he found cute, or a crush he had, Catherine would shrink a little inside. Not out of jealousy—at least not at first—but out of quiet resignation. She knew what boys like Jamie wanted. Tall girls. Slender ones. Confident girls who could wear skirts without tugging at them every five seconds. She was none of those things.
Still, she held on to the friendship like a life raft. If that’s all she could have, she’d take it. Being near him was enough. Or so she told herself.
The years rolled by. Junior year became senior year. People started dating, breaking up, growing into newer versions of themselves. But Catherine remained in the background. She watched. She hoped. She stayed quiet.
On prom night, Jamie asked someone else.
He didn’t mean it to hurt. In fact, he offered to go with Catherine as friends if she didn’t have a date. She smiled and declined, pretending she had plans. She stayed home that night, watching movies, telling herself she didn’t mind. But deep down, a small part of her broke.
By graduation, her family had made it official. They were moving to the United States before the year ended. She hadn’t told anyone yet—not even Jamie. Maybe she was afraid of saying it out loud, or maybe she didn’t want to admit she was hoping for one last moment before goodbye.
And then came the final school gathering. A small, casual get-together at a friend’s house. They laughed, played old songs, exchanged promises to stay in touch. There was food, a little alcohol, a lot of nostalgia. It was the perfect send-off for a chapter of their lives.
Jamie and Catherine ended up alone by the garden, away from the noise. The stars above were bright, and the air smelled faintly of grilled hotdogs and cologne.
“I’m leaving,” she blurted.
Jamie blinked. “What?”
“My family’s moving to the States. Next month.”
His brows furrowed. “Seriously? You never told me.”
“I didn’t know how. Or when.”
He nodded slowly. “Wow. That’s… big.”
She hesitated. Then, gathering whatever courage she had left, she added, “And I have to tell you something else.”
Jamie looked at her, curious. “Go ahead.”
“I liked you,” she said, almost in a whisper. “Since high school. Maybe even before that.”
The words hung between them like a kite caught in the branches—visible, still, and inescapable.
He didn’t answer immediately. Then, softly, he said, “Cath... I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t. But... I never saw you that way.”
She nodded, already expecting that. “It’s okay. I just didn’t want to leave without saying it. I wanted to be honest, one last time.”
“I don’t want this to ruin what we have,” he said.
“It won’t,” she lied.
But it did.
The days after that were awkward. Their conversations fizzled out. The inside jokes stopped. Their friendship journal was never touched again. When she boarded the plane weeks later, Catherine left more than her country behind. She left a piece of herself in that garden.
