Unexpected confession

Priya stretches her arms overhead and groans. "Banana bread is calling my name. Wren, come on—I need someone to appreciate Colette's baking with me."

Wren tucks her camera into its padded case and follows, glancing back at you with a small apologetic smile. "I'll leave the speaker up here for background music while we work. Play whatever you want."

Their footsteps fade down the stairs. You hear Colette's warm greeting, the clatter of plates, Priya's laugh.

Janelle doesn't move toward the door. She sits on the edge of her bed, hands pressed into a pile of folded cardigans, and says quietly: "We'll be down in a minute."

The words are directed at the empty hallway. You turn from the closet, a velvet hanger still in your hand.

"Hey," you say. "Thank you. For what you did back there. You didn't have to—"

"Yeah, I did." Janelle's voice is firm but soft. She picks at the edge of a cardigan sleeve, not looking at you. "They can be a lot. Priya especially—she means well but she doesn't always read the room."

"It's okay. They were just excited."

"It's not okay if it makes you uncomfortable." She finally looks up. Her dark eyes are steady, searching. "Riley, I... I want to tell you something, and I need you to not make it weird."

Oh.

You set the hanger down on the dresser. "Okay."

Janelle takes a breath. Her fingers twist a braid around her index finger, the gold of her hoops catching light as she tilts her head.

"I'm gay." She says it simply, like stating the weather. "Like, fully. I came out to my mom when I was fifteen and she cried for three days and then started introducing me to every queer girl within a fifty-mile radius. So." A small laugh. "That's that."

You nod. Your heart is doing something complicated.

"And I think you're..." She trails off, bites her lower lip, then pushes forward. "I think you're really attractive. Like, really. And I know that's—I know we just met, and I know you're going through stuff, and I am not trying to push anything. I promise. I just..." She exhales. "I wanted you to know where I'm coming from. Because I feel like there's something you're holding back, and I want you to know that if you ever need someone to talk to—someone who won't judge, someone who gets it—I'm here."

The room is very quiet. Sunlight slants through the window blinds, striping the bed in warm bars of gold. A cardigan slides off the pile and lands softly on the carpet.

She sees me. Not all of me—not yet—but she sees something real.

"Janelle—"

"You don't have to say anything." She holds up a hand. "Seriously. I just needed to get that out. You can go downstairs and eat banana bread and we can pretend I never—"

"No." The word comes out stronger than you intended. "I... thank you. For telling me. Both things."

Her eyes widen slightly. "Both?"

"The gay thing and the... other thing." You feel warmth spread across your cheeks. "I'm flattered. Genuinely."

Janelle's mouth curves. Not a full smile—something smaller, more vulnerable. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You take a breath. "And I... I do have things I'm figuring out. Big things. And I think—I think I might need someone like you. Someone who won't push but who'll still be there."

She nods slowly. "I can do that."

From downstairs, Priya's voice carries: "JANELLE! THE BREAD IS GONE IN FIVE MINUTES!"

Janelle rolls her eyes, but she's smiling now—really smiling. She stands, smooths her jeans, and gestures toward the door. "Shall we?"

She doesn't reach for your hand. She doesn't push. She just walks beside you toward the stairs, close enough that her shoulder brushes yours once on the landing, and lets the silence between you be whatever it needs to be.