The late afternoon sun filtered through the sheer curtains of Liana's apartment, casting golden stripes across the hardwood floor. Ava lay on the couch with her head in Liana's lap, eyes closed, feeling the gentle rhythm of fingers combing through her hair. The sounds of Johannesburg's northern suburbs drifted up from the street below—car horns, distant laughter, the perpetual hum of a city that never quite settled.
"You're thinking too loud," Liana murmured, her voice warm with affection.
Ava opened her eyes and looked up at the woman she loved. Liana's face was haloed by the backlight from the window, her locs tied back with a bright yellow scarf that matched the cushions scattered around them. Everything about Liana's space was color and light—the abstract prints on the walls, the throws draped over furniture, the succulents crowding the windowsill. It was so different from Ava's childhood home in Soweto, where every surface was polished to a shine and decoration meant family photos in matching frames.
"I'm not thinking," Ava lied.
"Liar." Liana's fingers stilled in her hair. "What is it this time? Your mother's Sunday call? Your father's questions about why you're not dating?"
Ava sat up, immediately missing the warmth of Liana's touch. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Through the window, she could see the jacaranda trees lining the street, their purple blooms almost finished for the season. Soon it would be summer, then Christmas, then another year of this—splitting herself in two, being one person here and another person everywhere else.
"My mother sent me a message this morning," Ava said quietly. "About the church fundraiser next month. And about Pastor Mthembu's son."
Liana was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was carefully neutral. "Thabo?"
"She wants to invite them over for dinner. She said he's back from Cape Town, that he's doing well, that it would be nice for us to reconnect." Ava laughed bitterly. "Reconnect. As if we were ever connected. I barely remember him from when we were children."
"But you know what she means."
"Of course, I know what she means." Ava's throat felt tight. "She meant it was time. Time for me to settle down, to marry a nice man from a good family, to give her grandchildren and fulfill every expectation she's ever had for me."
Liana stood abruptly and walked to the kitchen. Ava heard the clink of glasses, the rush of tap water. When Liana returned, she handed Ava a glass and sat in the armchair across from her instead of beside her. The distance felt deliberate.
"What did you tell her?" Liana asked.
"I said I'd check my schedule."
"Ava—"
"What was I supposed to say?" Ava's voice rose defensively. "That I can't have dinner with Thabo Mthembu because I'm already in love with someone? That someone is a woman? That I've been lying to them for two years?"
"Yes," Liana said quietly. "That's exactly what you're supposed to say."
The silence between them stretched taut. This wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation. It wasn't even the tenth. It was a loop they'd been stuck in for months—Liana pushing gently for Ava to come out, Ava promising she would but never quite finding the courage.
"I'm not ready," Ava whispered.
"You're never ready. That's the problem." Liana's voice was sad rather than angry. "Ava, it's been two years. Two years of hiding, of lying, of me being your secret. And I've been patient because I love you and because I know your family situation is complicated. But how much longer? Another year? Five years? Until they've already married you off to Thabo?"
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" Liana leaned forward, her eyes searching for Ava's face. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're just waiting for them to make the decision for you. To force your hand so you don't have to actually choose."
The words hit too close to home. Ava wanted to argue, wanted to defend herself, but the truth was that Liana was right. Part of her had been hoping that something would happen—that her parents would somehow figure it out on their own, that the universe would intervene, that she wouldn't have to be the one to detonate her entire life.
"I'm scared," Ava admitted, her voice breaking. "I'm terrified of losing them."
Liana's expression softened. She set down her glass and went back to the couch, taking Ava's hands into hers. "I know you are. And I'm not trying to make you feel worse. But Ava, you're losing yourself. Every time you lie to them, every time you pretend to be someone you're not, you lose a little more of who you actually are."
"You don't understand what it's like," Ava said, even though she knew it wasn't true.
"Don't I?" Liana's voice was gentle but firm. "My parents haven't spoken to me in five years. Five years since I told them I was gay, and they told me I was no longer their daughter. I know exactly what it costs to tell the truth. But I also know what it costs to live a lie."
Ava looked down at their intertwined hands. Liana's fingers were stained with ink—she'd been working on a design project all week, creating promotional materials for an HIV awareness campaign. Everything Liana touched became art, became something beautiful and meaningful. She lived her life so openly, so fearlessly. Meanwhile, Ava was still hiding in the shadows, too afraid to step into the light.
"I love you," Ava said. "More than anything."
"I know you do. But love isn't enough if you're not willing to fight for it."
The words hung in the air between them. Ava wanted to promise that she would fight, that she would tell her parents tomorrow, that she would choose Liana over everything else. But the words stuck in her throat, trapped by two years of fear and conditioning.
"I need time," Ava finally said.
"How much time?"
"I don't know."
Liana pulled her hands away gently and stood up again. This time she walked to the window, her back to Ava. "I can't keep doing this. I can't keep being the woman you love in secret while you play the dutiful daughter in public. It's killing me, Ava. And it's killing us."
Panic flooded through Ava's chest. "Are you—are you breaking up with me?"
"No." Liana turned around, and there were tears in her eyes. "No, I'm not breaking up with you. I'm just telling you that something has to change. Because I'm building a life here, Ava. A real life. And I need to know if you're building it with me or if I'm just a chapter in your story that you're going to close when it gets too difficult."
"You're not just a chapter. You're everything."
"Then prove it."
The challenge sat between them, heavy and unavoidable. Ava felt like she was standing at a crossroads, could see both paths stretching out before her. One led back to her parents' house, to Sunday dinners and church services and a marriage to a man she didn't love. The other led her, to Liana, to truth, to a life that was actually hers. But the second path meant losing everything she'd ever known. It meant being cut off, rejected, labeled as a disappointment and a sinner.
"I want to," Ava said, her voice barely in a whisper. "I want to prove it. I just don't know how."
Liana crossed the room and pulled Ava into her arms. "You start by making a choice. Not today, not right this second. But soon. You choose me, or you choose them. Because you can't keep choosing both."
They held each other as the sun continued its descent, the golden light fading to amber and then to the purple-blue of early evening. Ava breathed in Liana's scent—shea butter and printing ink and something uniquely her. She tried to memorize this moment, the feeling of safety in Liana's arms, the way the world narrowed to just the two of them when they were together.
Eventually, they ordered a takeaway and spent the evening on the couch, watching a crime series they'd been working on. But the earlier conversation lingered in the air like smoke, impossible to ignore. Every time Ava laughed at something on screen, every time she reached for Liana's hand, she felt the weight of what had been said. Something has to change.
Around ten, Ava reluctantly began gathering her things. She had marking to do, and staying over on a Sunday night always felt too risky—what if her mother called early in the morning? What if someone from the university saw her leaving Liana's building?
"You don't have to go," Liana said, but without much conviction. They both knew Ava would leave. She always did.
"I have papers to grade. And an early class tomorrow."
"Okay." Liana walked her to the door. "Will I see you this week?"
"Friday?" Ava suggested. "I could come straight from campus."
"Friday," Liana agreed.
They kissed goodbye, and Ava tried not to think about how it felt different somehow—more desperate, more uncertain. As if they were both wondering how many more kisses like this they had left.
The drive back to Ava's apartment in Braamfontein took twenty minutes, but it felt like crossing between worlds. Liana's neighborhood with its trendy cafés and rainbow crosswalks gave way to the denser, grittier streets near the university. Ava's apartment was small and functional—a place to sleep between teaching and the life she actually wanted to live.
Inside, she dropped her bag and stood in the middle of the living room, looking at the space as if seeing it for the first time. Minimal furniture. No photos on the walls except a single framed picture of her graduation day, her parents beaming on either side of her. Nothing that would indicate who she really was or what mattered to her. It was a shell, a performance, a place designed for someone who didn't actually exist.
Her phone buzzed. A message from her mother: "Did you think about the dinner with the Mthembus? Your father and I think next Saturday would be good. Let me know."
Ava stared at the message for a long time. She could see the trap closing around her, could feel the walls pressing in. If she said yes to this dinner, it would be a signal. An agreement to play along with her parents' plans for her future. But if she said no without explanation, the questions would start. Why not? Are you seeing someone? What's really going on?
She typed out a response: "Can we talk about this later? I'm very busy with work right now."
It was a delay tactic, nothing more. But she pressed send anyway.
Then she opened her phone's photo gallery and found the locked folder—the one place where her real life existed. Photos of her and Liana at the Drakensberg, hiking through mountains with their hands intertwined. A selfie from last month, Liana's lips pressed to her cheek, both of them laughing. A picture of Liana working at her desk, tongue poking out in concentration, completely unaware that Ava was photographing her.
This was love. This was real. And yet she kept it hidden in a locked folder like something shameful.
Ava closed the photos and opened her messages to Liana instead. She typed: "I'm sorry about earlier. I know I'm not easy to love."
The response came quickly: "You're worth it. Even when you're difficult. Even when you're scared. You're always worth it."
Ava felt tears slip down her cheeks. She didn't deserve Liana. Didn't deserve this patient, generous love that kept showing up even when she couldn't reciprocate it fully. But she wanted to. God, she wanted to be the kind of person who could stand up and claim her life, who could choose love over fear.
She just didn't know how to become that person.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of grading papers and responding to student emails. Ava fell asleep on the couch, surrounded by assignments about business ethics and corporate responsibility. The irony wasn't lost on her—teaching her students about authenticity and integrity while living a lie.
She woke up around three in the morning, neck stiff from the awkward angle. As she stumbled to bed, her phone buzzed with another message from her mother:"Ava, I need a proper answer about dinner. This is important to your father and me. Thabo is a good man from a good family. You're not getting any younger. It's time to be serious about your future."
The message felt like a noose tightening. Ava sat on the edge of her bed, phone clutched in her hand, and felt the full weight of her impossible situation. She couldn't keep lying. But she couldn't tell the truth either. She was trapped between two versions of herself, and both of them were dying.
She thought about Liana's words: "You choose me, or you choose them."
But what if she couldn't choose? What if the cost of choosing was too high?
Ava lay back on her bed and stared at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the city outside her window. Somewhere out there, Liana was probably sleeping peacefully, secure in who she was even if the world had rejected her. And somewhere else, her parents were sleeping too, completely unaware that the daughter they thought they knew was someone else entirely.
And here she was, caught in between, belonging nowhere.
Her phone buzzed one more time. Another message from her mother: "Please reply, my daughter."
Ava turned off her phone and pulled the covers over her head.
She will reply tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the day after that.
She would keep delaying, keep hiding, keep splitting herself in two.
Until something finally forced her hand.
Until she ran out of time.
Until the choice was made for her.
Because that was what she'd been waiting for all along—for the decision to be taken out of her hands. For the universe to intervene so she wouldn't have to be the one to break her family's heart.
She fell asleep with tears on her pillow and the taste of cowardice in her mouth.
And somewhere across the city, in an apartment full of color and light, Liana lay awake too, wondering how long she could love someone who wouldn't choose her.