Their “Coming Out”

They too had a coming out.

It was after many days that he received a message from her. It read:

“Mayan, I have something to tell you. You know you are my best friend, and I can’t hide things from you anymore. I’m dating Amaan. I wanted to tell you this for a long time but couldn’t. I’m sorry. I just thought you should know. Please don’t think too much about it. Love you.”

Shachi had messaged him after a month. Things could change so much in a month, he thought.Shachi would date a man. She was dating a man. But who could he be? Someone from the University, or someone outside?

Impulsive as ever, Mayan called her immediately. She didn’t pick up.

“She never answers in one go,” he muttered. She hadn’t been doing so for weeks now.

An hour later, while he was having lunch, she called back.

“Hi, Mayan.”“Hey.”“How are you?”“I’m fine. You?”“I’m okay.”“So… you’re on campus?”“Yes.”“Okay. So—who is he?”

There was silence.

“I already told you,” she said at last.“No, you didn’t. You said you were dating a man. Who is he?”“It’s Amaan.”

Amaan?

A-man?

Oh.Oh no.Yes.

Puzzled, perplexed, petrified—Mayan.That “aman” was Amaan. Not a man. A typo.

How could this happen? Amaan had never told him.

“Hello? Mayan?”“Yes. I’m here. How long has this been going on?”“A year.”“A year?”

A prank, he wondered. But Shachi didn’t play such pranks. Amaan did.

“Mayan,” she said softly, “please don’t overthink this.”

“I won’t,” he said.I won’t, he told himself. Not anymore.

“So… when are we meeting?”“After the vacations. Probably on the 9th.”“Are you okay?”“Yes. I’m fine. Congratulations, Shachi.”“You really mean that?”“Of course. I always wished you’d both find someone. I guess you found each other.”“Just promise you won’t think too much.”“I won’t. I’m happy for you. Truly.”“Okay. We’ll meet soon.”“Yes.”“Goodbye, Mayan.”“Goodbye. Take care.”

The call disconnected—and so did his sensibility.

I and Amaan were so different, he thought. I see it now.He hid everything. I hid nothing.

I was his best friend. He was not—never. For a year he hid his relationship; for a minute I couldn’t hide even my smile. Everything was wrong. My coming out to him. I told him the truth. He never told me a single one.

Why?

Every thought pierced Mayan from within.

So those nights when I called Amaan and his phone was busy, when he didn’t call me back—he was talking to her. She never told me either. When we were together, they acted like strangers, just friends. They never let me doubt. And I—what had I done?

I had given them everything. Told them everything. Left nothing of myself to myself. They occupied a whole palace in my personal space.

They were my best friends.They were… no.Not anymore.Not even friends.

Thoughts crowded his mind, biting and bleeding inside him.Amaan and Shachi. Straight. Hetero. Deceivers. Liars. Cheaters. Not my friends.

They had come out to him now—after a year.

Coming out. Was this a coming out too? Tougher than mine?

His senses blurred. Colours faded. Sounds rang hollow. Familiar smells turned strange. His skin prickled.

What now? What should I do?

Amaan was gone. He was someone else’s. He was never mine.Mayan felt as though a blade had cut into his most fragile emotion—soft as caramel cake.

He put on his earphones, hoping for solace. A song of unrequited love played. But even the song spoke only of love between a man and a woman. He felt excluded. Unwanted. In a world that celebrated binaries and ignored the queer, the strange, the undesired.

Would this world always deny him—to love, to be loved, to live with dignity?

The song hurt, yet he listened.

When it ended, he lay on the floor, half-dead, earphones tossed aside. Then slowly, he gathered himself. He would forgive.

I will forgive them, he resolved. Forgiveness was all he seemed capable of.

That evening, he texted them both his congratulations. No complaints. Friendship found a fragile shape again. At least they had come out to him.

That night, he picked up his pen and let his queer feelings bleed into an emerald-covered diary—preserved like a precious stone: the pain, the unrequited love, and their coming out.

About the Author: Mohit P. Rai serves as a Lecturer in English in the Technical Education Department, Uttar Pradesh. He is not a voracious reader, but occasionally wields the mighty pen—mostly on his laptop screen. His alma maters include the University of Lucknow and Banaras Hindu University, Varanasi. Mohit’s ambition is to keep his mind open to all forms of thought and every kind of author before he retires from life.