The rain came down hard the next morning, pressing against Maya's apartment windows like a thousand tiny fists. It fit the mood. Quiet, gray, unsettled.
She hadn't gone home after storming out the night before. She'd ended up at June's, curled up on the couch under a woven blanket that smelled like lavender and old books. She didn't cry. Not yet. The tears were stuck somewhere deep, buried beneath the shock of Kian's confession.
Bisexual.
It wasn't the word that haunted her. It was everything that came with it—the secrecy, the questions, the late-night texts to a man Maya had never heard of until a few days ago. The shame that hung in his voice when he told her. The walls he never let her touch.
Maya sat on the edge of June's bed, knees pulled to her chest, watching the sky spill over the city. Her phone buzzed beside her. Kian, again.
Kian: Please talk to me.
Kian: I messed up, I know.
Kian: I never meant to hurt you.
She didn't respond.
Instead, she scrolled through their past messages, the photos, the inside jokes only two people in love could have shared. It had all felt so real. And maybe it still was—but now it was also cracked in places she didn't know how to fix.
June entered the room with two mugs of tea and passed one to her silently.
"He texted again?" she asked.
Maya nodded.
"You thinking about going back?" June's voice was calm but cautious.
"I don't know," Maya whispered. "I still love him. That hasn't changed. But now... now I don't know who I'm loving anymore."
June sat beside her. "He's still the guy who brought you soup when you were sick. Still the guy who danced with you barefoot in the kitchen. But yeah, he also kept a part of himself hidden. That hurts. That matters."
Maya looked down at her tea. "He didn't even give me the chance to understand."
June was quiet for a moment, then said, "Maybe you still can. If you want to."
Maya didn't reply. She sipped her tea. And thought about Ivan.
---
Later that evening, Maya went home. Not because she had forgiven Kian, but because she needed answers. Answers she could only get face to face.
The apartment was dimly lit when she stepped inside. Kian stood in the living room, as if he'd been waiting for her all day. His eyes were bloodshot. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie.
"Maya," he breathed.
She set her bag down and crossed her arms. "Talk."
Kian nodded slowly, as if bracing himself. "I met Ivan when I was twenty. We were just friends at first—college friends. But then it turned into more. Quietly. Secretly. I didn't tell anyone. Not even my family."
He walked over to the window and stared out. "I grew up thinking I had to be one thing. Be straight, be strong, be normal. And I thought if I deviated from that, I'd lose everything. Ivan was the first person who made me feel... safe being unsure."
Maya swallowed hard. "So why did it end?"
Kian turned to her. "Because I wasn't ready to accept myself. I ghosted him. Left with no closure. I met you a year later, and I thought I could move on. That I should."
He stepped closer. "But I never stopped wondering who I really was. Not because I didn't love you—I did. I do. But because a part of me still felt unfinished."
Maya looked up at him. Her voice was barely a whisper. "And now?"
"I saw Ivan again a few months ago. Pure accident. We talked. Just... talked. And it brought everything back. Not feelings for him," he added quickly, "but confusion. About myself. About what I've buried."
Maya's heart thudded painfully. "You should have told me."
"I know," Kian said. "I was scared."
There it was again. That same excuse. Fear. As if fear gave permission to wound someone quietly.
She stared at him, her voice steady despite the storm in her chest. "You didn't just hide your sexuality from me. You hid your truth. You treated me like someone who couldn't handle it."
He stepped back, guilt flashing in his eyes. "I was wrong."
"Yes," she said. "You were."
A long silence passed between them. Not cold. Not angry. Just... tired.
Then Maya asked the question that had been lodged in her throat all day.
"Are you still in love with him?"
Kian shook his head. "No. I'm not in love with Ivan. But he helped me face something I needed to. And I want to do that now—with you. If you'll let me."
Maya closed her eyes.
This was the part they didn't write about in love stories. The in-between. The space where forgiveness didn't come with a romantic soundtrack. Where trust had to be rebuilt with bare hands.
She opened her eyes and said, "You have to be honest. From now on. About everything. I'm not asking for perfection. Just... truth."
Kian nodded, relief flickering on his face. "I can do that. I will."
Maya didn't move to hug him. Not yet. But she stayed. And for now, that was enough.