I got into the car as we drove off back to campus.

The radio was on low — some soft pop song humming through the static — but neither of us was really listening. I think it was that new Natalie Imbruglia single, the one that always sounded like someone was almost crying while singing. Fuzzy bass thudded through the old car speakers, the kind with cassette deck buttons that stuck sometimes.

The dashboard glowed faint green in the dim light, and the windshield wipers creaked rhythmically, brushing away the mist clinging to the glass.

I fidgeted with the edge of the shopping bag in my lap, still feeling the weight of her words back at the mall. It sat in my chest like a pebble in my shoe — small, but impossible to ignore. The handle crackled softly under my fingertips as I twisted it back and forth.

After a few minutes, I finally said it. Quiet. Hesitant.

“So… you like me?”

Maya didn’t take her eyes off the road. “Yeah,” she said simply.

I swallowed, then added — softer — “But we’re…”
I hesitated. The word caught on my tongue like a splinter.
“…Girls.”

The car was quiet except for the windshield wipers dragging across glass. The silence made the air feel thicker, like we were both breathing something heavier than oxygen.

Outside, the glow of passing streetlights flickered over the dashboard like a slow pulse. The edges of the highway signs blurred as we passed them, green and unreadable.

Maya’s grip on the steering wheel didn’t change, but her voice did — gentle, like she was unwrapping something fragile. “Yeah. We are.”

I stared out the window. My reflection in the glass didn’t help. It was still me. It wasn’t. I didn’t know anymore. The headlights from a passing car painted brief shadows across my face, warping the image into something unfamiliar for a moment.

“I’ve never… I mean, I wasn’t…” I bit my lip, trying to find the right shape for the sentence. “I didn’t think anyone would ever say that to me. Not now. Not like this.”

“You don’t have to say anything back,” Maya said quickly. “I’m not trying to push you into something. I just… I wanted to be honest.”

I nodded, heart hammering. I didn’t know if it was fear, confusion, or something else entirely.

“I’m still figuring everything out,” I said.

“I know.”

“I’m not… I don’t even know who I am yet.”

She glanced at me, and for once, there was no teasing in her smile. Just quiet understanding.

“That’s okay, Riley. You’ve got time.”

****

We made it back to our dorm room.

Maya tossed her keys on the desk and flopped onto her bed like she’d just finished a marathon. Her jacket slid off one shoulder, and she kicked her sneakers off with a groan.

I didn’t say much. Just climbed onto my own bed and stared at the ceiling, the bags from the mall still sitting near the door, unopened. They looked like artifacts from someone else’s life.

The overhead light buzzed faintly, but I didn’t feel like turning it off. I didn’t feel like doing anything, really.

My body felt weird — not just from everything happening inside it, but from… today. From her.

Butterflies.

I hadn’t had those in years. Not since middle school when Megan Taylor let me hold her hand behind the bleachers and I thought I might actually float away.

But that was when I was a boy.

Now?
Now I didn’t even know what I was.

I still liked girls. That hadn’t changed. But everything else had.
And suddenly, the idea of liking girls — as a girl — felt complicated in a way it never had before.

I shifted on the mattress, wrapping the blanket tighter around my shoulders. My heart was doing this slow, fluttery thing, and my stomach was all tangled up in knots.

Was it okay?
To still feel that way?
To maybe… be a lesbian?

Even thinking the word made my face warm.

In the hallway earlier, two girls passed by and whispered dyke loud enough for me to hear. I pretended I didn’t, but it stuck — a sharp little splinter in the back of my mind. The kind of word that echoed, even after you told it to shut up.

That wasn’t what I wanted people to see when they looked at me. I wasn’t trying to prove anything. I wasn’t brave or bold. I was just… confused.

I still liked Maya’s smile.
Still liked the way she stood up for me.
Still thought she was beautiful.

But how do you even say that when you’re not sure who you are yet?

Back when I was a boy, I liked girls. No one questioned that. No one stared.
But now, if I like a girl… suddenly it’s a whole thing. A label. A political act. A target.

I buried my face into my pillow, the fabric warm from the day, and let out a quiet sigh.

Is it still the same kind of love?
I didn’t know.
And that was the scariest part of all.

I looked over at Maya.

She was lying on her side, one arm tucked under her head, hair spilling over her pillow like a curtain of dark waves. Her breathing had slowed, steady and soft, like she was trying to give me space without actually leaving.

Her eyes met mine — soft, open, like she knew I was thinking too loud again.

And then she smiled.

Not a big smile. Just a quiet one. The kind that settles into your chest and stays there.

There they were again.

The butterflies.
Tiny, invisible things fluttering around in the space behind my ribs. The same ones I’d been trying to ignore since the mall… maybe even longer than that. But now they weren’t so easy to swat away.

And somehow, now that it was quiet, now that the world wasn’t moving so fast — I could feel them more clearly.
They weren’t just nerves. They were wanting.
Wanting her hand again. Wanting her to say my name the way she did earlier.
Wanting to understand what all this meant, even if I was terrified of the answer.

I looked back up at the ceiling, heart thudding gently.

She liked me.
She really liked me.
Not because of who I used to be. She liked me, right now.
Even when I didn’t know what that meant.

And the truth was…
I liked her, too.
Maybe I had for a while.
Maybe I just didn’t let myself see it until now.

I turned onto my side, facing her fully. My throat tightened a little, but I didn’t look away.

“Maya?” I said, barely above a whisper.

She blinked, eyebrows lifting. “Yeah?”

I hesitated. My fingers fidgeted with the hem of the blanket, twisting it into soft little folds.

Then I said it — quiet, breathless, but real.

“I think… I think I love you, too.”

Her face changed slowly, like a sunrise. Not shock. Not confusion. Just… warmth.
The kind that made my chest ache in the best possible way.

She didn’t say anything right away.
She just reached across the small space between our beds and gently took my hand in hers.

Her fingers were warm. Steady. She didn’t squeeze — just held me like it wasn’t a question.

And somehow, that one small gesture made everything feel a little less impossible.
A little less scary.