Chapter 12

Daniela stared at her reflection in the mirror, tilting her head. Lip gloss, just enough blush to look effortlessly flushed, hair half-up like she’d seen in that Pinterest post about “first date looks.”

“You look hot,” she whispered to herself. “Totally into boys. So straight. Peak heterosexuality.”

She almost believed it. Almost.

Truth was, she hadn’t even liked the guy that much.

Ben—someone she vaguely remembered from a mutual friend’s party—had slid into her DMs last week, and while she’d usually ignore a message that started with “you up?” at 4PM, something about the mess inside her head had made her say yes when he asked her out.

Not because she wanted to. But because she needed to prove something.

To herself. To the universe. Mostly, to the pink quiz results still haunting her browser history.

Her phone buzzed.

Ben: here 🚗

Daniela took one last breath, grabbed her purse, and headed out.

The date started off… fine.

Ben took her to a trendy café with live music and overpriced drinks, the kind that had neon signs saying things like “You glow, girl!” and “Espresso Yourself.” He talked a lot—mostly about gym routines, crypto investments, and a podcast called Alpha Male Mastery that made her want to crawl into a hole.

She laughed when she was supposed to. Smiled when he complimented her dress. Pretended to be impressed when he showed her his follower count on Instagram.

But every time he leaned in too close, or let his hand graze her thigh under the table, her body stiffened like she’d been dunked in ice water.

At one point, he leaned forward and murmured, “You have such soft eyes. They’re kinda… hypnotizing.”

Daniela blinked.

All she could think was Megan has soft eyes.

And that was when it all started to crumble.

“Are you cold?” Ben asked, noticing her shoulders tense.

“I’m fine,” Daniela replied too quickly, sipping her drink to avoid answering.

She hated this. The way her skin itched under his gaze. The way her smile felt fake, plastic. The way every flirty comment made her think of someone else.

Someone with pink highlights, oversized hoodies, and a soft voice that only grew softer when she whispered Daniela’s name.

She shoved the thought away.

“You’re really pretty,” Ben said again, like he thought repetition would help.

She nodded. “Thanks.”

“You’re kinda quiet though.”

“I’m just—processing.”

“Processing what?”

My entire sexuality, maybe. You wouldn’t understand.

“Life,” she said instead.

Ben reached out and placed a hand on hers. It felt… wrong. Too warm. Too heavy.

Like a glove that didn’t fit.

“You know,” he said, voice dropping into what he probably thought was sexy, “we could get out of here.”

Her throat tightened.

“Actually, I think I’m gonna call it a night,” she said, standing up too quickly. Her chair scraped loudly.

Ben blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Wait—what? You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just—tired. Really tired.”

She was already halfway to the door before he could say anything else.

Daniela stood outside the café, heart pounding, staring at her reflection in the glass window.

She felt like she was splitting in two.

One version of her was still clinging desperately to the image she’d curated for so long: the flirty, confident, boy-crazy girl. The other—the version she was now terrified to name—was crumbling that image from the inside.

The wind picked up, and she hugged her jacket closer.

Her phone buzzed again.

Megan: hey just checking in. u okay?

Daniela’s fingers hovered over the screen.

She wanted to respond. She wanted to say No. I’m not okay. I went on a date to prove I don’t like you and it made me realize I only ever want to talk to you.

But instead she typed:
yeah. home soon. all good.

She didn’t send it.

Instead, she opened her camera by mistake and caught her own face.

She didn’t look straight. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

She looked like a girl trying too hard not to cry.

When she got back to the house, the living room was dimly lit and half-empty. Sophia and Yoonchae were watching a movie, wrapped in blankets. Megan wasn’t there.

Daniela exhaled.

Good.

Except—it wasn’t. Because now she wanted Megan to be there, to ask her how the date went, to care enough to hate the answer.

She climbed the stairs to her room, flopped onto her bed fully dressed, and screamed silently into her pillow.Then looked to Manon’s bed but the girl wasn’t here thankfullly.

What the hell was wrong with her?

Was it because she was just lonely? Was she confusing admiration for attraction?

She didn’t want to feel like this. She didn’t want to keep catching herself watching Megan when she laughed, or feeling this tight pull in her chest every time their hands brushed by accident.

She didn’t want her dreams to be filled with Megan’s smile. Megan’s voice. Megan’s lips—

Nope. She bolted upright.

“Absolutely not.”

She needed to reset. She needed a distraction. Music, maybe.

She grabbed her phone.

TikTok greeted her with a lesbian couples dancing challenge.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

She scrolled. Another video: “Why that one girl from your friend group makes you nervous 😳 (it’s because you’re gay).”

She screamed internally and closed the app.

The next morning was worse.

She woke up late, hungover on shame and self-doubt. When she came downstairs, everyone was gathered in the kitchen. Megan was laughing at something Manon had said, standing by the toaster with bedhead and sleepy eyes.

She looked up as Daniela entered.

“Hey,” she said softly.

Daniela’s heart flipped.

“Hey,” she croaked, grabbing a mug to distract herself.

Lara offered her a quiet smile.

Manon was suspiciously silent. Too silent.

Then she leaned toward Daniela with a smirk. “Sooo… how was the date?”

Daniela flinched. “Fine.”

“Did he sweep you off your feet?”

“Totally. I’m actually marrying him next week.”

“Hot,” Manon said. “Love that for you.”

Megan glanced between them, and then—just for a second—her smile faltered.

Daniela saw it.

Felt it.

Felt too much.

Later that day, when she was alone in the bathroom, she stared at her reflection again.

Same girl.

But now her eyes looked different. Softer. Like they were finally asking the questions she’d been running from.

Do you even like boys? Or do you just like being liked?

Do you miss Megan… or do you miss the version of yourself that didn’t feel this scared?

She splashed water on her face and tried to breathe.

That night, Daniela had retreated to her room early, claiming a headache. She’d climbed the stairs ahead of the others, quiet and distant, and curled up on her bed with a pillow clutched to her chest. The soft amber light from their bedside lamp barely reached the far corners of the room.

A few minutes later, Manon entered. She placed her phone on her nightstand and gave Daniela a side glance.

“Should I use headphones?” she asked gently.

Daniela shook her head. “You can stay.”

Silence hung between them like fog.

Then, Daniela spoke—barely a whisper. “Manon…”

Manon looked over. “Yeah?”

“I’m not okay.”

She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t have to—not yet. Manon slowly sat on the edge of Daniela’s bed, waiting.

Daniela took a shaky breath. “I think I messed up. With that guy. I went out with him to prove something. That I was… normal. That I could still be like before.”

Her voice cracked at the end. Manon’s gaze stayed soft.

“But it felt wrong the whole time,” Daniela continued, her eyes burning. “And when he touched me, all I could think about was Megan.”

The words left her like broken glass—sharp and hard to admit.

“And the worst part?” she added. “I can’t stop thinking about her. Not just what she does. How she laughs. The way she says my name. How I feel when she looks at me. I’ve never felt that way with a guy. Not once.”

She dropped her gaze, like she was ashamed of it.

“I think something’s wrong with me.”

Manon didn’t speak right away. She just scooted closer and wrapped an arm around Daniela’s shoulders, gently pulling her in.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said quietly. “You’ve just got a heart. That’s all.”

Daniela exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her whole body tight with emotion.

“Wanna know what I think?” Manon added.

Daniela nodded.

“I think it’s brave as hell that you said all this out loud. Even just to me. I think you’re figuring yourself out, and yeah—it’s messy. But you’re allowed to love whoever you want. And especially? You’re allowed to love Megan.”

Daniela’s eyes closed. The words settled into her chest like something warm and aching at once.

Manon gave her a soft squeeze.

“Wanna hear a secret?”

Daniela blinked up at her.

“I figured it out last week,” Manon said with a small smile. “But I was waiting for you to be ready.”

Daniela let out a short, broken laugh—half relief, half exhaustion.

“I’m tired of fighting it,” she whispered.

“Then stop fighting,” Manon said. “Just start being.”

And that night, for the first time in weeks. She didn’t overthink or hide behind a mask. She just let herself feel—held gently in the quiet, without fear.