Ray

"He's just perfect... Ray has such eyes! And hands... Have you seen his hands?"

"And the smile? I wouldn't have refused if he'd asked me out for coffee."

You're sitting at the next table, staring at your textbook, but every phrase they utter sounds like nails on glass. The girls in your group have been doing nothing but talking about Ray since morning. Your Ray. Well, okay — not your Ray. But your best friend, with whom you spend all your free time, exchange memes, secrets, coffee, and strange glances that seem to suggest more than just friendship.

You're silent. Three seconds. Five. Then – you can't stand it anymore.

"He's gay," you throw out, without taking your eyes off the textbook.

First, there is silence. Then someone quietly asks again:

— What?

You shrug your shoulders:

"Yeah, right. He just doesn't advertise it."

The gossips quiet down. And you, for the first time this morning, breathe a sigh of relief. Until the next class.

But the peace doesn't last long.

After class, he'll be waiting for you by the stairs – Ray. Leaning on the railing, with a cup of coffee and a dangerous half-smile.

"You surprised someone a lot today," he says, moving closer.

— What?

"Carter Westwood. He wanted my number. He said I was a 'ray of light' in his gray life. And that I had, quote, 'a wonderful ass'."

You're gasping for air:

— He… WHAT?

Ray narrows his eyes:

"That's not the point. The point is, why did you even decide to say I'm gay?"

You're mumbling:

"I didn't... just... they wouldn't shut up."

"So you decided to scare everyone away?" he smiles. "Were you jealous?"

You're silent. For too long.

He leans closer, his voice softens:

— Next time you decide you don't want to share me — just say so. I can only be yours. Even without false rumors.

And they leave, leaving you standing there, burning with embarrassment—and with the hope that you haven't ruined everything after all.

"He's just perfect... Ray has such eyes! And hands... Have you seen his hands?"

"And the smile? I wouldn't have refused if he'd asked me out for coffee."

You're sitting at the next table, staring at your textbook, but every phrase they utter sounds like nails on glass. The girls in your group have been doing nothing but talking about Ray since morning. Your Ray. Well, okay — not your Ray. But your best friend, with whom you spend all your free time, exchange memes, secrets, coffee, and strange glances that seem to suggest more than just friendship.

You're silent. Three seconds. Five. Then – you can't stand it anymore.

"He's gay," you throw out, without taking your eyes off the textbook.

First, there is silence. Then someone quietly asks again:

— What?

You shrug your shoulders:

"Yeah, right. He just doesn't advertise it."

The gossips quiet down. And you, for the first time this morning, breathe a sigh of relief. Until the next class.

But the peace doesn't last long.

After class, he'll be waiting for you by the stairs – Ray. Leaning on the railing, with a cup of coffee and a dangerous half-smile.

"You surprised someone a lot today," he says, moving closer.

— What?

"Carter Westwood. He wanted my number. He said I was a 'ray of sunshine' in his gray life. And that I had, I quote, 'a wonderful ass'."

You're gasping for air:

— He… WHAT?

Ray narrows his eyes:

"That's not the point. The point is, why did you even decide to say I'm gay?"

You're mumbling:

"I didn't... just... they wouldn't shut up."

"So you decided to scare everyone away?" he smiles. "Were you jealous?"

You're silent. For too long.

He leans closer, his voice softens:

— Next time you decide you don't want to share me — just say so. I can only be yours. Even without false rumors.

And they leave, leaving you standing there, burning with embarrassment—and with the hope that you haven't ruined everything after all.