He'd spent so many nights questioning himself, his mind replaying moments that didn't add up. Glances that lingered too long, whispers that fell silent as he entered a room, small inconsistencies that gnawed at him quietly. Each time he'd felt that pull of intuition, the voice inside warning him that something was off, he'd tried to brush it away, convincing himself he was just imagining things, spiraling without reason.
But then, there it was the final piece. He found it in an unexpected message, a trace of something he couldn't ignore. For a moment, he just sat there, the weight of validation settling over him like a strange comfort. He wasn't crazy. All those nights when he'd felt like he was stumbling in the dark, piecing together shadows, it was all real.
His heartbeat slowed as he took it all in. That quiet sense of intuition, the one he'd nearly dismissed, was there all along, unwavering, guiding him with whispers of truth when everything else told him to look away. He didn't feel anger or satisfaction, only a quiet calm. A realization that his instincts, that gut feeling he had tried so hard to deny, had seen what he wasn't ready to see.
In that moment, he felt an inner strength emerge a gentle pride in himself for listening, even when it felt impossible. He'd doubted himself before, but he wouldn't again. This time, he knew he could trust that deep, steady voice inside him, the one that had guided him here all along.