Brian

You never hid your dislike for non-traditional orientations. To you, it was something wrong, and you could casually drop a biting remark without even thinking about how deeply it might hurt someone.
And then came Brian, a gay man who didn't hide his orientation.
You studied together and constantly crossed paths: in the hallways, in class, in circles of friends. He was nothing like the people you were used to judging. Calm, confident, and surprisingly kind. He never tried to argue with you or change your views—he simply remained himself.
At first, literally everything about him irritated you. His smile. His voice. His composure. The way he looked at you, as if he saw much more than everyone else did.
But over time, you started catching yourself doing strange things: searching for Brian with your eyes in a crowd, waiting for his messages, getting angry when he talked to someone else.
One evening, the two of you were left alone.
"Do you hate me?" Brian asked unexpectedly.
You were already about to give the habitual "yes," but the words got stuck in your throat.
Because for the first time, you realized: it wasn't him you hated.
You hated the fact that, when you were with him, you stopped understanding yourself.