Kian knew Maya had seen the message.
She hadn't said anything. She didn't have to. It was in the way her eyes lingered on him a little longer that morning, in the half-second delay before she smiled, in how quiet she had been during breakfast.
He felt it.
And that terrified him more than the truth itself.
The thing about Maya was that she noticed everything. She was the kind of girl who remembered the smallest details—your favorite tea, the song you hummed when nervous, which part of the sidewalk you avoided because of that one time you slipped. She watched people like she was trying to solve them, gently and silently. And when she loved you, she loved you thoroughly. Selflessly.
So Kian had learned to lie carefully. Not with words, but with absence.
He never said he wasn't texting Ivan. He never said Ivan was just a friend. He simply… didn't say anything.
And silence was safer.
But now it felt like he was running out of room to be quiet.
He met Ivan two years ago, long before Maya. Before he even understood the war inside him had a name. They'd met at an art exhibit, of all places. Ivan had been standing in front of a sculpture of a shattered glass violin and muttered something sarcastic about how pretentious it was.
Kian had laughed. And just like that, the conversation began.
It was supposed to be nothing. Just a night. Just curiosity.
But Ivan had a way of looking at him like he already knew the parts Kian tried to hide. There was no judgment in his gaze—just understanding, and hunger, and something that felt dangerously close to love.
And it scared the hell out of him.
So Kian left. Ghosted him. Deleted his number. Swore it meant nothing.
But it hadn't meant nothing.
Ivan had come back into his life three months ago. A random encounter at a bookstore, of all places. Ivan still had that same crooked smile, that same quiet confidence. He hadn't asked for explanations. He just handed Kian his new number and said, "If you're done running, text me."
Kian didn't text him.
Not right away.
But one night, when Maya had fallen asleep beside him and the weight of pretending felt too heavy, he did.
He told himself it was just for closure. That he needed to understand what that night had meant. That he could still love Maya and talk to Ivan. That sexuality wasn't a box you could trap yourself in forever.
But the first time Ivan called him Ki, his knees went weak.
Now, he stood in the shower with water too hot for comfort, trying to wash off the shame. Steam clung to the mirror, blurred his reflection into something faceless. Something he couldn't define.
Bisexual. He had whispered it once to himself in the dark, just to hear how it sounded. He hadn't said it out loud since.
He knew he wasn't cheating. He hadn't kissed Ivan. Not yet. But emotionally, he was already split down the middle.
And the guilt was growing teeth.
He stepped out of the bathroom, towel slung low around his hips, and saw Maya curled on the bed, scrolling through her phone. She looked up at him and smiled, soft and strained.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey."
The silence after was louder than the greeting.
He dropped beside her, kissed her cheek, and let his head rest on her lap. She threaded her fingers through his damp hair, and for a moment, it felt like nothing had changed.
But he could feel it. The lie. The weight. The space between them widening like a crack in glass.
He didn't want to lose her. But he didn't want to lose himself either.
And he knew—deep down—that soon, something would have to give.
Either his truth. Or their relationship.
And he wasn't ready for either.