She looked down at the coffee, then back at me. “I have feelings for you too,” she said, and every sentence I had rehearsed during the night disappeared. A small, startled smile moved across her mouth as she watched me struggle to speak. But before I could reach for her, she added, “There’s something you said once that I don’t think I ever stopped hearing.”
I had spent two years afraid of what would happen if Maya learned the truth. Standing in my kitchen, I realized there was another possibility I had never considered. She might already have been waiting for it—and my silence might have hurt her long before I found the courage to speak. Now I needed to hear which version of me she had been carrying all that time.
Part 2 — I Could Kiss Her, but I Still Couldn’t Call Her Mine
I wanted to ask what she had heard, but Maya looked suddenly overwhelmed by how much we had already said. She rubbed her forehead, glanced at the abandoned coffees, and gave a small, incredulous laugh. “I don’t know what we do now,” she admitted, and I recognized the opening through which I could send us both back into months of careful uncertainty. For once, I refused it: “We go on a date.”
