CHAPTER 5: A NIGHT OF CONFUSION AND CURIOSITY
771 Words
The house was unusually quiet. For the first time in what felt like forever, it was just me and Keziah. My parents had gone on vacation, taking Talia with them. They had asked me to come along, but I refused. I had my own reasons—one big reason, actually.
Keziah was coming over.
Lucky, as expected, didn’t want to go on the vacation either. He hated long road trips, and family vacations bored him. Instead, he had made plans to sleep over at his best friend Wesley’s house. That worked perfectly for me. With Lucky gone, that meant I’d be home alone—with Keziah.
And that’s exactly how I wanted it.
The kitchen was warm, filled with the rich aroma of Indomie noodles and fried eggs—the only meal I knew how to make. At eight years old, my cooking skills were limited, but I was confident in the little I could do. I handled the eggs while Keziah stirred the noodles, her small hands gripping the wooden spoon as she hummed softly.
"Dahlia, you're acting like a real chef," she teased, giggling as she watched me struggle to flip the omelet.
I rolled my eyes. "Don't hate the chef, just enjoy the food."
She laughed, a sound that always made my heart feel light.
Cooking with Keziah was fun. With her, everything felt easy, effortless. I wasn’t thinking about school, about homework, about being the smart kid who always had to be perfect. With Keziah, I could just be me.
Once the food was ready, we sat on the floor of the living room, plates in our laps, watching cartoons. The silence between us was comfortable, but my mind wasn’t.
I had been thinking about something for a long time. Something I didn’t understand yet, but it was there—lingering at the back of my mind.
Without thinking, I blurted it out.
"I like girls."
Keziah stopped chewing and turned to look at me. Her eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "Huh?"
Panic rushed through me. Why did I say that? Did I just ruin everything?
I forced a laugh, waving a hand dismissively. "Never mind."
She shrugged and went back to eating, but I couldn’t focus anymore. I wanted her to know—but not today, Dahlia. Not today.
After dinner, we decided to shower before bed.
I handed her a pair of my pajamas—something I had done so many times before. Sharing clothes, sharing a bathroom—it was nothing new. We were just kids. Puberty hadn’t hit us yet, so there was nothing to feel awkward about.
Or at least, there shouldn’t have been.
But tonight felt different.
Steam curled around us as warm water filled the small bathroom. Keziah stood with her back to me, her skin glistening under the dim light.
"I’ll wash your back, then you can do mine," I said, trying to sound casual.
She nodded. "Okay."
I picked up the sponge, hesitating for just a moment before running it down her back. Her skin was smooth, soft, warm beneath my touch. I swallowed, forcing my hands to keep moving.
But as I scrubbed, something inside me stirred. A feeling I didn’t understand. A strange flutter in my stomach.
"Stop it, Dahlia."
"But no, I want this."
My heart pounded. I was standing so close to her, closer than I ever had before. She smelled like coconut soap, and her hair was damp, sticking to the side of her neck.
She turned her head slightly, her dark eyes meeting mine in the fogged-up mirror.
For a split second, I thought she could see everything—the thoughts, the feelings, the confusion inside me.
A lump formed in my throat.
"Not today, Dahlia."
I quickly pulled away, handing her the sponge. "Your turn."
She smiled, taking it from me, and started washing my back.
Her touch sent tiny shivers down my spine. I hated that I liked it.
To distract myself, I made a joke. "You suck at rinsing off soap."
She laughed, smacking my arm.
That laugh saved me. It pulled me back to reality, reminded me that she was my best friend first.
After we finished, we changed into pajamas and climbed into bed.
The room was dark, except for the soft glow of the nightlight. She fell asleep quickly, her breathing slow and steady beside me.
But I lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
What was happening to me? Was it normal to feel this way?
Would I ever be able to tell her the truth?
Or was this something I had to keep buried forever?
- Writer
