Maya didn't speak of the message, but it stayed with her like a song she couldn't get out of her head.
Ivan. You up?
She replayed it again and again, in the quiet spaces between conversations, in the stillness of the night when Kian's breathing softened into rhythm beside her. The name sat beneath her skin. It itched at her calm. She had no proof, no confrontation, no reason to spiral—but her gut whispered otherwise. It always had good instincts, especially when it came to people she loved.
By midweek, Maya began to watch Kian more closely. Not in the clingy, obsessive way that her friends warned against in group chats, but with quiet alertness. She noticed how he held his phone closer when texting now, how he tilted the screen slightly away. How his laughter sounded different sometimes—lighter, like it didn't belong to her.
She didn't accuse him. Not yet. Instead, she decided she'd wait.
Because if there was anything to be revealed, the truth would show itself.
It always did.
Thursday afternoon, Maya met with her best friend, June, at a café just off 7th Street. It was the kind of small, indie place that played vinyl jazz and served drinks in mismatched mugs. June ordered her usual chai and raised a skeptical brow the moment Maya slid into the seat across from her.
"You look like a woman at war," June said.
"I feel like one."
Maya sipped her black coffee and stared into it like it might hold answers.
June leaned forward. "What happened?"
Maya hesitated. Then whispered, "I think Kian's hiding something."
June didn't blink. "You mean like... cheating?"
"I don't know. It's not that. Not physically, at least." Maya glanced at the couple seated near the window. "I saw a message on his phone. From someone named Ivan. It just said 'You up?' but—something in me just... I don't know. It felt wrong."
June chewed her lip. "Do you know who Ivan is?"
"No." Maya shook her head slowly. "But I think Kian does. And I think—there's more to this. More than just a friend texting at 1 a.m."
June was quiet for a beat, then asked gently, "Do you think he might be... bi?"
The word dropped between them like a pebble into still water.
Maya blinked. "I don't know. He's never said anything."
"Maybe he doesn't know how," June said, stirring her drink. "That stuff can be hard to talk about. Especially if you're scared of losing someone."
Maya looked down at her hands. Her fingers were shaking slightly. "But what does that mean for me? For us?"
"I think," June said carefully, "it only means something if he stops being honest with you. You deserve the truth, Maya. Whatever it is."
That night, she waited for Kian to come home from his shift. The clock blinked 10:47 PM when the door finally opened, and his voice drifted in with the cold.
"Babe?"
"In the kitchen," she called.
He walked in, dropping his backpack by the door and rubbing the back of his neck. "Hey," he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Smells good. Is that pasta?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Your favorite."
She dished him a plate and sat across from him in silence. He twirled spaghetti around his fork and glanced at her once or twice, unsure of the stillness between them.
"You okay?" he asked.
She paused, then said softly, "Who's Ivan?"
He froze, mid-bite.
It was only for a second. But Maya saw it. That moment where his throat closed up, where his brain sprinted for an excuse.
He set the fork down gently. "He's... someone I used to know."
Maya kept her gaze level. "Someone you used to date?"
Kian's jaw tightened. "Sort of. It was complicated."
Maya's heart cracked a little, but she didn't flinch. "Are you in touch now?"
He nodded slowly. "Yeah. We ran into each other again."
"When?" she asked.
"Few months ago."
She swallowed hard. "And you didn't think to tell me?"
"I didn't know how," Kian admitted. "I thought if I brought it up, it'd make you question everything. And I didn't want to lose you."
"But you kept talking to him," she said. "At night. In secret."
"I wasn't trying to cheat," he said quickly. "I just... I don't know. I wanted to understand a part of myself. I've never talked about it. I didn't know if I could."
Maya sat back in her chair, heart twisting. "Are you bisexual, Kian?"
He looked her straight in the eyes. "Yes."
The silence between them stretched out, wide and tender and brutal.
"Okay," she whispered. It wasn't anger in her voice. Just ache.
"I love you," Kian said. "That hasn't changed. But I'm not proud of how I handled this."
"No," Maya said. "You're not. You lied to me. Not with words. With your silence."
He looked down at his plate, untouched now. "I'm sorry."
Maya stood up, arms folded over her chest, tears threatening to spill. "I need air."
He didn't stop her as she grabbed her coat and slipped into the night.
Outside, the city hummed under orange lights. Maya walked with no direction, her boots crunching against leaves, heart aching with confusion. She wasn't angry that Kian was bisexual. She wasn't afraid of what that meant.
She was hurt because he hadn't trusted her with his truth.
Because love—real love—wasn't just kisses and birthdays and shared playlists. It was vulnerability. It was being brave enough to be seen, fully.
And Kian hadn't let her see all of him.
Not yet.
But maybe now, she could finally begin to decide if she wanted to.