Unlabeled 🌈

The Walk Home

Chapter Eighteen

The streets always looked different at night. The shop windows turned into mirrors, and the yellow glow of streetlamps stretched shadows into long, bending shapes. My backpack felt heavier than usual, straps digging into my shoulders as I walked, one slow step after another.

I kept replaying Mariah’s question in my head. The words circled like restless birds: Do you like girls? Or guys? Or… both? I should’ve been relieved at her shrug, her easy acceptance. But instead, my chest carried this strange ache, like an echo that wouldn’t stop ringing.

At the corner near the pharmacy, a group of kids leaned against a wall, smoking. Their laughter shot through the air sharp and loud. I lowered my eyes, adjusted my hoodie, and walked faster. I hated that I always felt like prey when I didn’t even know what kind of creature I was.

Halfway home, I slowed down. The night was cool, the air thick with the smell of rain on concrete. I tilted my head back and looked up at the stars, scattered like secrets across the dark. For a second, I imagined they were watching me—not with judgment, but with quiet patience.

Maybe it didn’t matter if I had an answer right now. Maybe it was enough just to be walking, breathing, existing. The pavement under my shoes, the air in my lungs—proof that I was still here. Still moving.

When I reached my front door, I whispered it softly, a promise to myself: I’ll figure it out. But not tonight.