Cynthia is curled up on her couch, legs tucked beneath her, mindlessly scrolling through her phone when the blind item pops up on her screen.
“Blind Item #8 – Who knows if there will be an actual announcement, but this A-list singer/sometime actress has moved on from her boyfriend.”
Her breath catches. It’s vague, like they always are, but she can’t help but be curious. Could it be?
They don’t talk like that anymore, she has no right to ask, but her thumb hesitates only for a second before forwarding the screenshot to Ariana.
Cynthia: You seeing this? (attached)
The reply comes fast.
Ariana: LOL
Ariana: People love to talk
Cynthia frowns. That’s it? No denial, no explanation? Just a laugh-off?
Her fingers hover before she types:
Cynthia: Ari...
A pause. The typing bubbles appear. Disappear. Reappear.
Ariana: Yeah.
Cynthia exhales sharply, pressing her phone to her chest. It can’t be.
Her mind flickers back... back to the moments they almost had, the moments they buried.
The room had been dimly lit, the air thick with something unspoken. Ariana was curled against Cynthia, legs tucked beneath her, biting her lip as she looked at her.
They were supposed to be celebrating—another long day of Wicked press, everyone loved the project they had put their entire heart and souls to. Many shared moments of laughter (and crying), hand-holding, and stolen stares. Of something that felt too big to be ignored.
And yet.
“You ever think about it?” Ariana had asked softly, almost afraid to break the stillness.
Cynthia’s chest tightened. “Think about what?”
Ariana’s gaze didn’t waver. “Us.”
The air between them crackled, like a match waiting to be struck.
Cynthia swallowed. “Yeah.” A breath. “I do.”
Ariana smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “What do you think?”
For a moment, they had let themselves exist in that fragile space between reality and possibility. Cynthia had imagined it—them. The quiet mornings, the whispered jokes, the way Ariana would look in the soft glow of the kitchen light, still sleepy but grinning, the way they would fit seamlessly into each other’s worlds. The way they already did.
Loving Ariana was like breathing, effortlessly easy. But reality was never that simple.
The industry. The pressure. The eyes watching, the expectations pressing down on them both.
Cynthia closed her eyes. “I think it’d be hard.”
Ariana exhaled, and Cynthia knew—she knew—that wasn’t the answer she wanted.
“I know,” Ariana murmured. “But it’d be worth it.”
Cynthia clenched her jaw. “I don’t know if we could survive it.”
And that was the truth, wasn’t it? Their lives weren’t meant for easy love. Not with all the eyes watching, not with Cynthia tangled in something comfortable with Lena, not when Ariana had spent her whole life under the spotlight.
They had made the decision. Not out loud, not in clear words, but in the silence that had settled between them.
Ariana nodded, as if she had already prepared for this answer. But her voice was small when she said, “I don’t wanna lose you.”
Cynthia’s heart ached. “You won’t.”
But they both knew that was a lie.
Because after that night, things had changed. Just enough. Just enough for Cynthia to feel the absence of something they never let happen. Enough to pretend the distance wasn’t there, even when it was all either of them could think about.
Her chest tightens. She should let it go. Should let Ariana tell her on her own terms, if she even wants to. But instead, she texts:
Cynthia: Why didn’t you tell me?
A long pause. Then—
Ariana: Cyn, I…
But no explanation comes.
Cynthia doesn’t push right away. But a few nights later, Ariana calls.
Ariana’s voice is raw when she speaks. “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you.”
Cynthia exhales, rubbing her temple. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”
Ariana hesitates. “Because I didn’t want you to feel like... like I was waiting for you to change your mind.”
Cynthia freezes.
Ariana’s voice is softer now. “I knew where you stood, Cyn. And I respected that. But I just—I couldn’t do it anymore. Pretend to love someone I didn’t. Not when I already…” She trails off.
Cynthia closes her eyes. “Ari.”
“I wasn’t gonna ask you to pick me,” Ariana whispers. “Not if it meant losing you in another way.”
Cynthia’s chest aches. “And now?”
Ariana lets out a shaky breath. “Now I don’t know what’s worse—pretending to love someone I don’t, or pretending I'm not in love with you.”
There it was. Ari had let herself admit what she had been carrying in her chest. Even after all this time.
Cynthia grips the phone, her heart pounding.
“Ari…”
Silence. Cynthia wants to say it. She has been wanting to say it since that night. And oh how she wishes she had been brave enough. Things weren’t any easier now, she wanted to keep them safe. She couldn’t risk losing her fully. But maybe the universe had been graceful enough to grant them a second chance. Would she take it this time?
“It’s okay,” Ariana finally says.
Before Cynthia could find the right words, or just any words, the call had ended.
Cynthia spends the rest of the night playing out every possible scenario. Could she finally let herself get her heart’s desire? She didn’t want to cause pain to anyone, but she knew whatever decision she made, someone was bound to get hurt.
She picked up her phone again, this time dialing her best friend's number. Capri had always had her best interest at heart, even when it was the harsh truth.
"Cynthia Erivo, my light, my joy, my monthly source of emotional labor, how may I assist?"
"You are so dramatic," Cynthia sighed.
"And yet you keep calling. What’s wrong?"
"Oh, so I can’t just call my best friend without something being wrong?"
"No, because the last time you called me at this hour, you had a crisis about whether or not to add a touch of pink to your nails."
"...Okay, but that was a totally valid concern."
"It sure was. But I know you, babe. This is about her, isn’t it?"
Cynthia went silent, like a schoolgirl that had just been caught doing something she was not supposed to.
"Say it." Capri insisted.
"I texted Ari about that blind item."
“OH.”
“Yeah…”
“What did she say?” Capri sat at the edge of his couch. Would these gays finally sort their shit out??
“She was really casual about it, almost unbothered. But here’s the thing—she didn’t tell me before this. Like, I had to find out through a boody blind item… We used to tell each other these things," a tone of sadness lingering in her voice.
“Right. But Cyn, you walked away. You can’t expect things to be the same.”
“They haven’t been the same for a while…”
“Why do I feel like you're not telling me something...” Capri pressed, he could recognize it in Cynthia’s voice.
“I–,” there was no point in lying, Cynthia knew better than to try. What even was the point of calling Capri if she didn’t lay out the entire situation so he could help. “She didn’t tell me because she didn’t want me to feel pressured.”
“Oh?”
“To make a choice. She’s still in love with me Capri…” she let out a sigh.
“And you’re still in love with her”
Cynthia swallowed hard at those words. Of course she was. She had tried so hard to move on, to forget about every moment they shared, willing to make it work with Lena. But the distance only made it worse. Ari consumed her every thought.
“Did you tell her?”
“I didn’t think she would still feel the same after I walked away… I don’t know what to do”
“Well you know now for sure. And you do know what to do, you’re just scared”
“I’m not scared.”
“And the sky is bright green, love.”
“Okay, maybe I’m a little scared,” she admitted. “What if she decides it’s not worth it. That I am not worth it.”
“Cyn. Bestie. My love. My platonic soulmate. That woman looks at you like you hung the sun, the moon and all the fucking stars. If you asked her to jump, she would ask ‘how high?’ Hell, she let you walk away, and somehow she is still waiting for you.”
“…But what if she regrets it?”
“Would you regret it?”
“No.” Suddenly she had never been so sure about anything in her life.
“Then tell her.”
“…How?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe start with the fact that you’ve been hopelessly in love with her for YEARS? Maybe start with, ‘Hey, Ari, remember when we both pretended we could handle being apart and it made us miserable?’ Or, ‘Hey, turns out you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’d like to fix this, please.’”
“That’s a lot of words.”
“Oh my GOD, POST A VAGUE INSTAGRAM STORY LIKE A NORMAL LESBIAN THEN.”
“…Actually.” Was she really considering this?
“No. No, no, no—Cyn, I was joking.”
“It might be a good idea.”
“Oh my GOD.”
“Just something subtle. Something that lets her know I’m ready.”
“Woman! Who are you? The perfectly curated Cynthia Erivo has lost her mind.”
“And yet, you love me.”
“…Unfortunately.”
“So, do you think a quote would work?”
“Jesus take the wheel,” Capri groaned.
“That’s not a no.”
“Just post the damn quote before I lose my mind.”
“Thank you, I love you.”
“Yeah, yeah, now go! Go tell your tiny popstar girlfriend that you love her.”
So she finds the perfect quote to post to her story,
“it’s you,
I know this because
when you saw my rain,
you did not try to show me the sun,
instead you started to love me
drop by drop.”
She knows it’s risky. She can already see it. Everyone had dissected their every move on social media, and this would not be the exception. But she was tired too. Tired of pretending, of being so close, yet so fucking far from the woman she loved.
And Ariana knows. As soon as she sees it, she knows it is for her. And for the first time in so long, she lets herself hope. Maybe this time it will be different.