what is this feeling?

Monet de Haan and Zoya Lott strolled arm in arm toward the entrance of the movie theater on a crisp Friday night in New York City, the familiar strains of Last Christmas playing from the overhead speakers – ushering in the holiday season and the end of another college semester at Columbia spent together.

The streets shimmered with twinkling lights strung along shopfronts and lampposts, while bundled-up pedestrians hurried past in heavy coats and scarves, their breaths visible in the frosty evening air.

Monet’s driver had dropped them off moments earlier, offering a polite nod before guiding the sleek black car back into traffic. Now, the marquee above the theater greeted them, glowing brightly with the bold titles Wicked and Gladiator II.

Zoya’s steps quickened with excitement. She’d been counting down to the release of Wicked for weeks, her face lighting up each time she gushed about the casting and the layered political themes woven into the adaptation.

Monet, on the other hand, had been lukewarm at best. A nearly three-hour musical – a musical she had already seen live – wasn’t her first choice for a date night, but Zoya’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Monet was powerless to say no to that smile.

"I’ve already seen it on Broadway. Why would I care about the movie?" Monet had remarked weeks ago when the tickets first dropped. 

Zoya, without missing a beat, practically gave her no choice. “That was years ago! We’re going, Monet. It’s going to be different. You’ll thank me later.”

If Monet was going to be forced into this, she planned on making the experience her own. She had already envisioned her ideal night: luxurious, private, and perfectly tailored to her tastes. So, when an unexpected roadblock prevented her from securing tickets to the actual premiere, she had a backup plan ready – renting out an entire theater exclusively for them.

Zoya, however, had other ideas. She insisted they experience it like everyone else: crammed into a packed theater, surrounded by strangers.

“That can be my Christmas present,” Zoya had suggested, flashing a big, bright grin.

Monet gave her a disbelieving stare, as if Zoya had just suggested something utterly absurd. “I can think of a million better Christmas gifts, but sure, if that’s what makes you happy. Knock yourself out.”

Once inside, the theater lobby greeted them with its inviting warmth. Zoya paused, drawing in a deep breath as the rich, buttery scent of popcorn instantly transported her back to her childhood – lazy Sunday afternoons spent at the movies with her dad. It had been their tradition back in Buffalo, one that never quite made its way to New York.

A smile spread across Zoya’s face. Ever since she was a kid, she had loved the thrill of sinking into a plush seat, surrounded by strangers all experiencing the same story together in real time. It was a moment of nostalgia that Monet couldn’t quite share. Her attention had already drifted to the concession stand, her face twisted in horror at the sight of the packed lines of eager moviegoers.

“I still don’t understand. if I must be here, why can't we just go watch Gladiator instead?” Monet demanded, gesturing toward the large Gladiator II cardboard cut-out  in the lobby. “Now that’s way more my speed.”

Zoya shot her a pointed look, rehooking her arm with hers and pulling her along. “No way. Wicked is a must. Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

Monet let out a theatrical sigh, rolling her eyes. “Yes, you keep saying that,” she muttered, clearly unconvinced.

As they neared the self-serve kiosk, Zoya suddenly stopped, a mischievous gleam lighting up her face. “Hey, unless you’re up for a double feature?” she teased, leaning in closer. “That is, if you can actually stay awake that long…””

Monet playfully nudged her with her elbow, feigning offense. Oh, I can stay up just fine, thank you."

“Are you sure about that? Because I recall you falling asleep on me last night…”

Monet’s hand shot up to her mouth, cutting Zoya off with a gasp. “You are not bringing that up right now!”

“Oh, but I am,” Zoya shot back, still laughing as she led them forward. She was so caught up in her amusement that she nearly walked past the kiosks, only to be brought back by Monet’s pointed throat-clearing and a sharp gesture toward the machine.

“I’m not touching that thing,” Monet announced, waving her card as if the touchscreen were beneath her.

With an exaggerated sigh, Zoya stepped up to the kiosk to handle everything. “You’re lucky I’m doing this for you,” she muttered under her breath, her expression focused as she tapped through the options.

“You wouldn’t have to if we were at the premiere with Max, Aki, and Audrey.” Monet huffed in frustration. “I still don’t understand why I couldn’t get us tickets. I mean, Cynthia’s had dinner at my house!”

Zoya smirked, keeping her focus on the screen. She knew exactly why Monet hadn’t gotten premiere tickets—because she’d asked Max, as a favor, not to give them to her. This night was about creating something special for the two of them.

And maybe, just maybe, Zoya found it adorable to see Monet out of her element for once.

The screen displayed the seating chart, most of the best seats already marked in blue. Zoya frowned, scanning the remaining options. “Where do you wanna sit, babe?”

Monet leaned in slightly, squinting at the options. “Hmm. Let’s see. I require at least two seats away from the commoners—for, uhm… .social distancing . Oh, and somewhere close to the screen? I didn’t bring my glasses,” she said casually.

Zoya’s head snapped toward her, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “But I reminded you to bring them this morning— twice!”

“Oops?” Monet replied, her lips curling into an unapologetic smirk.

Zoya couldn’t help but shake her head, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth despite her irritation. She selected the seats closer to the front than she’d prefer, knowing full well why Monet "forgot" her glasses—Monet hated how she looked in them. Zoya, on the other hand, loved them.

Monet kept complaining, but Zoya had already tuned her out, concentrating on finalizing the purchase. The tickets printed with a satisfying whir, and Zoya grabbed them with a look of triumph. "These are definitely going in my scrapbook," she declared, a bit too loudly. "This night’s one for the books."

Monet raised an eyebrow, glancing at the tickets in Zoya’s hand before meeting her gaze with a hint of amusement. “You’re really making a scrapbook for this?”

“Absolutely," Zoya replied, her grin never wavering. "It’s my girlfriend’s first real movie experience. This moment deserves to be remembered.”

Monet glanced around with a dry smile. “Really? Because I’d like to forget this as soon as possible,” she quipped.

**

Next, they arrived at the concession stand, and Monet immediately groaned at the sight. “Oh, great. Another line,” she muttered, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently.

Zoya tried to stay positive, knowing Monet wasn’t used to waiting for anything. “It’ll move quickly,” she assured her, though she wasn’t entirely convinced herself.

Unfortunately, it didn’t. As the minutes dragged on, Monet’s complaints grew louder and more insistent.

“Who’s running this place? Is everyone here incompetent?” she scoffed, glaring at the employees behind the counter as if her disapproval alone could speed things up. 

Zoya’s cheeks burned with embarrassment as she felt the eyes of the other customers on them. She shifted uncomfortably, hoping it would end soon.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached the counter. Before Zoya could say a word, Monet cleared her throat and stepped forward. “Is this popcorn gourmet? ” she asked with a completely serious expression.

The employee blinked, clearly caught off guard. They glanced at their coworkers, unsure if they were missing something. “Uh… it’s just… popcorn,” they said slowly, giving Monet a confused look.

Monet’s face fell in disappointment. “Oh,” she murmured.

Fighting back a smile at her girlfriend’s obliviousness, Zoya slipped an arm around her waist and joined her at the counter. “I’ll have a large popcorn with layered butter, M&Ms, and a blue Icee, please.”

Once she secured her snacks, Zoya turned to Monet, raising an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t want popcorn?” she asked, her words slightly muffled as she shoved a handful into her mouth.

Monet eyed the greasy tub in Zoya’s hands with a look of disdain. “Oh, I’m good,” she replied, grabbing the bag of Twizzlers and a bottle of water from the counter before turning on her heel and walking away.

“It’s almost a three-hour movie! That’s not going to hold you over, Monet,” Zoya called after her, struggling to juggle all the snacks as she slowly made her way toward the podium.

“Don’t remind me,” she groaned. “I still don’t get the hype over this movie. Why does it need to be three hours?”

“The cast alone makes it worth it,” Zoya explained as they approached. “Cynthia as Elphaba? She’s going to bring so much depth to the role. The themes, the messages—it’s going to resonate with everything going on in the world right now. I mean, a story about identity, defying expectations, and standing up for what you believe in? It’s exactly what people need to see.”

Monet sighed dramatically as she handed her ticket to the usher. “And here I was thinking it was just a movie about some evil green freak,” She added a small shrug, trying to distance herself from the emotional gravity of it all.

“She’s not evil or a freak, Monet! She’s misunderstood. That’s like the entire point of the movie!!” Zoya shot back, clutching her popcorn defensively. She turned to the usher, a teenager with a blank expression and a name tag that read Elliot , seeking backup. “Right?”

Elliot blinked at her. “Uh, I actually haven’t seen it. I just work here,” he replied, handing their ticket stubs back.

Monet burst out laughing. “Wow, Zoya. Even he’s not convinced.”

“Monet,” Zoya hissed, shooting her a glare before turning back to the unimpressed usher. “Ignore her. You’re going to love it once you see it, trust me.”

“Sure thing. Enjoy the show. You will be in auditorium number six—it’s the last one on your right,” Elliot said flatly, waving them through without a trace of enthusiasm.

Monet walked past him eagerly, not bothering to say thank you. As she took a few steps forward, she turned back to see Zoya stopping to ask, “By any chance, are you hiring?”

“I think we are—”

Before Elliot could finish, Monet grabbed Zoya by the arm with urgency. “She’s just kidding,” she said quickly, pulling her away before Zoya could say anything else. As they walked off, Monet shot her a look and warned, “Seriously, if you work here, I swear I’ll break up with you.”

“Noted.”

**

They found their theater and made their way to their seats, with Zoya confidently taking the lead for a change. She turned back with a goofy smile, gesturing toward the staircase. “After you, de Haan.”

As they settled in, both slipped off their coats. Monet hesitated, clutching her designer jacket with a frown. Her eyes darted between the armrest and the seat, already envisioning a tragic fate involving butter or sticky soda residue.

Zoya noticed the hesitation and couldn’t hold back a grin. “Here,” she said, reaching over to gently take the jacket. She draped it over the back of Monet’s chair with casual ease. “Better?”

“Almost.” Monet leaned in, scrutinizing the placement. With meticulous care, she smoothed the fabric and adjusted its position, ensuring not a single thread grazed the floor. “There. Now it’s acceptable, ” she declared with a satisfied nod.

As Monet went to sit, her eyes swept over the theater, immediately noticing the relaxed attire of everyone—her girlfriend included. Zoya, lounging comfortably in her oversized green Constance hoodie, looked completely at home.

Monet’s gaze dropped to her own outfit: a form-fitting Givenchy dress in a soft pink hue, paired with a matching handbag and heels—the pink, of course, chosen at Zoya’s insistence.

“Well,” Monet said, gesturing to herself with a smirk, “I’m overdressed, clearly .”

Zoya chuckled, sinking back into her seat. “I tried to warn you. But for the record, you look amazing.”

“You’re right. I do.” Monet flipped her hair with confidence, only to freeze mid-motion as the TikTok trend she’d planned resurfaced in her mind. Turning to Zoya, her tone snapped into full business mode.

“Quickly, film me for the TikTok before the lights dim!” she commanded, already adjusting her posture and preparing for her moment in the spotlight. She intended to showcase how effortlessly composed she could be afterwards—unlike some people on the app, practically begging for attention. Not to name names, Julien.

Zoya, already well-accustomed to this routine, pulled her phone from her hoodie pocket and aimed it at Monet, waiting for the signal.

Monet cleared her throat, smoothing down her sleek dress to ensure everything was perfect. She shot Zoya a look, giving her the go-ahead.

Straightening up, Monet adopted a serious yet charming expression, facing the camera as if auditioning for a role. “This is me, Monet de Haan , before seeing Wicked ,” she said clearly, flashing a confident smile.

But Zoya, with a mischievous grin, flipped the camera back to herself, snuggling up close to Monet. “And this is meeee before WICKED!!” she exclaimed, making the signature “W” gesture and pulling a series of goofy faces as she leaned in closer to the lens.

“Zoya! You’re ruining my moment!” Monet protested, trying to shove Zoya away, but a smile tugged at her lips.

Before Zoya could retort, their banter was cut short as the theater lights began to dim. The atmosphere shifted instantly—conversations hushed to murmurs, and all eyes turned toward the screen as a pre-recorded message reminded everyone to silence their phones.

Right on cue, Zoya complied, almost too eagerly. She powered down her phone and slid it into her pocket, looking as though she’d just aced a test. Monet rolled her eyes but was caught off guard when Zoya suddenly extended her hand, palm up, toward her.

"Alright, give me your phone. I don’t trust you not to text Luna during the movie."

Monet’s brows shot up in offence. “What? No!” she shot back. “You do realize you don’t work here, right?”

Zoya opened her mouth to respond, but the overture of Wicked began to play, its beautiful melody filling the theater.

“Monet!” she pleaded, her eyes wide with desperation.

"Fine, whatever," Monet relented, reaching into her bag with exaggerated slowness, making sure Zoya noticed every dramatic movement. She finally pulled out her phone and handed it over, as if it were a grand act of selflessness.

Zoya sighed in relief as the screen faded to black. A shimmering, mysterious orb appeared, glowing ethereally in the darkness, and Ariana Grande’s muffled voice echoed through the theater. 

"Because there has been so much rumor and speculation...let me tell you the whole story."

At the sound, Zoya’s hand instinctively slipped into Monet’s, squeezing it with a rush of excitement.

Monet tried to match her energy, but her mind kept drifting. She found herself watching Zoya more than the movie itself, intrigued by the way Zoya leaned forward, her eyes wide with delight, like a child on the edge of her seat.

Monet smiled to herself, wondering how she ended up with such a dork. But it was endearing—Zoya was so into it, so effortlessly herself.

It wasn’t until Monet saw Glinda and Elphaba interact at Shiz University that she truly started to get into it. Without thinking, she blurted out, " Zoya, you didn’t tell me this was gay?" Her voice was filled with amusement, now genuinely intrigued. "Yeah, that’s a lesbian," she added, nodding toward the way Glinda was looking at Elphaba. "I mean, I should know."

The people around them began shushing Monet, but she remained oblivious. Zoya quickly turned to apologize on her behalf. “Sorry, it’s her first time,” she whispered, offering a nervous laugh. For a brief moment, she considered moving over a seat to avoid anyone assuming they were together.

Luckily, the more Monet got into it, the quieter she became. Fully engaged, her eyes were glued to the screen as the chemistry between Glinda and Elphaba unfolded.

As “What is This Feeling? Played, the tables turned. Zoya leaned in, her breath hot against Monet's ear as she tried to be clever. "You know, this kind of reminds me of us when we first met.”

Monet immediately shushed her, pressing a finger to Zoya’s lips so firmly that it smushed them together. “Shh, you’re ruining it.” Without taking her eyes off the screen, she reached into Zoya’s popcorn bucket, grabbed a handful, and popped it into her mouth.

Zoya couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking her head.

Neither of them said another word—until Boq’s obsession with Glinda became too much to ignore. Monet’s mischievous grin spread across her face as she nudged Zoya, her finger pointed toward the screen.

"That’s you," she teased, tapping Zoya’s arm. "Totally you."

Zoya’s eyes narrowed, looking genuinely offended. "Excuse me?" she shot back louder than intended. "I’m clearly Elphaba!"

The groans and shushes from nearby were immediate. Zoya froze, shocked at herself for the outburst. Mortified, she sank lower in her seat, silently cursing herself for disrupting the movie.

**

Then, the emotions took over during the Ozdust scene. Monet had expected to find it funny – a harmless prank with her name written all over it. But as the scene shifted to Elphaba’s perspective, Monet was caught off guard. The laughter, the mockery, it took on a whole new meaning now, as someone who had experienced it firsthand after Gossip Girl turned on her.

And when the quiet intimacy of the two dancing in silence followed, the room seemed to hold its breath. The moment was so raw, so real, that Monet felt a sudden sting in her eyes. The way Glinda comforted Elphaba, who had never really been comforted in her life, hit deeply.

A few tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them. She quickly tried to wipe them away discreetly, but Zoya, catching the movement from the corner of her eye, asked with a teasing, yet shocked whisper.

“Are you crying?”

“No,” Monet lied, but the quiver in her voice gave her away. She turned slightly, trying to hide her emotions.

Then, as Elphaba’s confession played out on the screen – where she revealed she believed she was the reason for her mother’s death – Monet’s heart ached for Zoya. She glanced over, worried Zoya might be feeling triggered. Putting her pride aside, she draped her arm around her shoulders, lightly rubbing her arm.

It was a quiet gesture—no words needed—to remind her that she was there, just as Glinda was for Elphaba.

**

Monet’s love for the movie grew with each passing scene. The makeover moment, the undeniable chemistry between Glinda and Elphaba—it all captivated her more than she’d expected. Initially skeptical, she now found herself truly starting to connect with Elphaba.

Then “I’m Not That Girl” played, and Monet didn’t stand a chance.

Cynthia’s voice, soft and haunting, made Monet’s chest tighten. The raw emotion in the song—full of longing and self-doubt—left her choked up. Monet tried to push it aside, telling herself firmly: No more emotions. She wasn’t going to let herself get swept away again.

Until Defying Gravity hit.

I'm through accepting limits

'Cause someone says they're so

Some things I cannot change, but 'til I try, I'll never know

Too long I've been afraid of

Losing love, I guess I've lost

Well, if that's love, it comes at much too high a cost

I'd sooner buy defying gravity

Kiss me goodbye, I'm defying gravity

And you can't pull me down

Monet’s emotional journey through the movie had reached its peak. She sat frozen, captivated by the song, the soaring vocals, and the sheer power of Elphaba’s defiance. Watching Elphaba stand all alone, abandoned by everyone when it mattered most—even the people who claimed to love her, it was almost unbearable.

But it wasn’t just the intensity of the performance that struck her. It was who was performing. A Black woman—a queer Black woman—playing the lead. As she listened to Cynthia’s powerful rendition, Monet was reminded of just how much that representation meant.

She had never felt so connected to the musical before. Her heart felt full, as if something inside her had shifted. Monet, with her understanding of music and its technicalities, recognized how difficult the song was to sing. She could hear every riff, every subtle shift in tone, and understood how those elements made this version something entirely different—something truly special.

The lyrics now resonated in a way they hadn’t before. It was as though the character's pain and strength mirrored her own. Cynthia brought to life what it feels like to be othered—to have people constantly telling you how to act in order to gain their acceptance. The relentless need to prove yourself, time and again, just to be seen.

As the song progressed, the vulnerability Monet felt was overwhelming, and it only made her cry harder. With each tear, frustration built inside her. This was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid: letting herself feel too much. She had always prided herself on maintaining control, yet here she was a complete wreck over a musical number.

On top of everything, After Cynthia Erivo’s powerful battle cry, the screen flashed with “To Be Continued.”

Monet stared in disbelief, raising her voice through her tears. “To Be Continued? You have to be fucking kidding me!” She had been so caught up in the emotion, expecting closure, not a cliffhanger.

A few people chuckled in understanding, which only fueled Monet's anger even more.

The lights flickered back on, snapping everyone out of their daze. Reality rushed in, and Zoya, still stunned, slowly came to her senses. She pulled out her phone, aiming it at Monet, knowing if she didn’t capture this moment, Monet would never let her hear the end of it.

“And this is Monet, after Wicke –”

Before Zoya could finish, Monet’s reflexes kicked in. She nearly swatted the phone out of Zoya's hand, her voice sharp. “Get that camera out of my face!”

Zoya laughed, not seeing the big deal, but Monet wasn’t having it. A quick glance in her compact mirror confirmed her fear—her mascara had turned into a smudgy disaster, her eyes puffy from crying. There was no way she was letting that be caught on camera.

Gossip Girl would have a field day with this. Crying in a public movie theater? Yeah, this was rock bottom.

As everyone started getting up, Zoya quickly gathered their trash, then glanced curiously at Monet, who remained seated, her hands covering her face in embarrassment.

"I can’t leave like this," Monet murmured, her voice muffled behind her palms.

"You look fine," Zoya said, though her amused tone betrayed her. She couldn’t help but be a little surprised—Monet, the one usually so composed, more emotional than her? Zoya had expected it, prepared for the wave of feelings, but Monet had been doing everything to shield herself from it. Maybe that was why it hit her harder.

"And hey, I knew you had a heart," Zoya joked, nudging Monet to lighten the mood.

“Don’t patronize me,” Monet grumbled, digging into her purse for her wallet. She pulled it out and handed it to Zoya. “Okay, take this and bribe the poor worker down there to not let anyone inside until I’m ready to leave,” she instructed, now desperately trying to fix her makeup.

But Zoya immediately pushed it back toward her. “No, I’m not doing that! They need to clean the theater before the next show. It’s a tight turnaround, Monet.”

Monet blinked, taken aback, “Uh, okay… fine. Quick, give me your hoodie.”

Zoya paused to consider it. Then, a mischievous smirk spread across her face as an idea crossed her mind. “Try my Icee first.”

“Excuse me!?”

“I said, try my Icee,” Zoya repeated, her voice full of challenge, as if she had been waiting for this moment for a long time.

Monet wrinkled her nose. “No, that’s disgusting.”

“Suit yourself…” Zoya teased, stretching as if she was getting ready to leave, but her gaze never left Monet, waiting to see if she’d cave.

“So, you’re actually going to blackmail me in my time of need!?” she blurted out in a panic. Then, her astonishment gave way to a smirk as realization and a touch of pride struck. “Oh… I taught you well.”

Bitterly, Monet snatched the Icee, taking a quick sip. The rush of sugary blue raspberry syrup overwhelmed her taste buds in an unexpectedly delicious way. She tried to sneak another sip, but the sudden cold hit her too fast. She froze, coughing slightly as she tried to recover.

“That’s called a brain freeze.”

“I know what a brain freeze is, Zoya,” Monet shot back, clearing her throat and gesturing toward the hoodie. “Now, hand it over.”

Still smirking, Zoya passed Monet the hoodie. Monet quickly slipped it on, pulling the hood up, and grabbed a pair of sunglasses from her bag. “There. Problem solved. Now, lead the way, and don’t let anyone see me. Understood?”

Zoya fought to keep a straight face, but it was hard to take her girlfriend seriously. “Understood. No one will know you were here.” She motioned for Monet to follow, leading the way.

They were about to leave when Zoya suddenly stopped in her tracks, spotting a photo booth just to the left by the arcade. “You know what else would be perfect for a scrapbook…?” she asked rhetorically, practically bouncing with excitement.

Before Monet could even mutter a confused “What?” Zoya had already grabbed her hand and was dragging her toward it. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

“A photo booth? Oh, good—a hiding spot,” Monet muttered approvingly, letting herself be pulled along.

“We’re not hiding, Monet—we’re taking photos!”

“You want to document this? ” Monet asked incredulously, but Zoya was already ushering her inside.

They squeezed into the cramped photo booth, quickly closing the curtain behind them. Zoya gently urged Monet to “ditch the disguise,” convincing her to take off the sunglasses, even if it meant feeling vulnerable. Monet hesitated but finally complied, her guard slowly coming down. They both adjusted to fit into the frame, posing for each shot.

Zoya wrapped her arms around Monet, pulling her close. Monet was clearly trying to mask her emotions, striving for perfection. Sensing it, Zoya whispered, “It’s okay,” and snuggled closer, offering comfort. That simple gesture finally coaxed a genuine smile from Monet.

For the last photo, the energy shifted. Zoya leaned in, her eyes locking with Monet’s. Without a second thought, they both smiled into the moment before closing their eyes and sharing a quick, sweet kiss. The camera flashed, capturing the perfect memory.

As the photos printed out, Zoya eagerly snatched them up, assuming Monet wouldn’t care about keeping a copy. Monet, however, nervously watched, her eyes glued to the strips as she waited to see how they turned out—and, to her surprise, they were actually really cute. She’d need to edit them a bit, but… they were far better than she’d expected

Just as Zoya went to tuck both strips into her pocket, Monet stopped her with urgency. “Wait, give me one!” she demanded without thinking. Then, trying to act nonchalant, she added, “You don’t need two, anyway.”

**

Later that night, the two were in bed. Zoya was fast asleep, sprawled across Monet as though personal space didn’t exist. One arm was slung over Monet’s waist, her leg casually tangled with hers. Her face rested against Monet’s neck, soft breaths brushed against her skin in a steady rhythm. Her hair was wrapped in a silk scarf, and she wore a loose white tank and grey boxers, her skin glowing softly in the moonlight filtering through the curtains.

Monet, on the other hand, was wide awake, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. The dewy radiance from her skincare routine was still fresh, and her matching pajama set clung comfortably to her frame. She felt every movement of Zoya as she shifted in her sleep, the weight of her body pressing against her. 

Scenes from the movie replayed in her mind, each one stirring questions she couldn’t silence—questions about herself, their relationship, and what it all meant.

She couldn’t shake the haunting image of Elphaba—mocked, betrayed, and left to face the world alone. Even Glinda had turned her back on her, choosing the easier path of self-preservation. Then Zoya’s words from earlier echoed in her mind: “You know, this kind of reminds me of us when we first met,” she had said, referencing Elphaba and Glinda.

The comparison had been playful at the time, but now it gnawed at Monet. How could Zoya say that, knowing the film portrayed Glinda as self-serving and shallow, more concerned with her image than with loyalty or doing what was right? Was that really how Zoya saw her?

Did Zoya think that’s what she’d do when things got tough? Zoya, who always stood up for what she believed in, regardless of the consequences or what anyone thought. And Monet? She couldn’t be more different.

The thought made her chest tighten, and suddenly the "Ozdust" scene felt uncomfortably close to what had happened at Zoya’s birthday party back at Constance—a moment Monet had never quite let herself forget. The only difference was that Monet hadn’t done the right thing in the end.

Before she knew it, Monet found herself shaking Zoya awake.

“Zoya…” Monet whispered urgently. “Wake up.”

“What’s wrong?” Zoya stirred, groggily shifting in bed.

Monet hesitated, the question sitting on her tongue, before it finally slipped out. “Why did you want me to wear pink tonight?”

“Monet, what are you talking about?” Zoya mumbled, still half-asleep.

Monet’s frustration crept in as she pushed herself up, her gaze intense. “You asked me to wear pink. Is that because you think I’m Glinda? Because I did all those awful things to you in high school? Because I didn’t stand by you?” She paused, her breath catching in her throat. “I wouldn’t do that. Not anymore, Zoya. Not ever again…” Her voice faltered, breaking on the last word.

“Monet, no… I didn’t mean it like that,” Zoya explained, now fully alert. She turned toward Monet, instinctively reaching for her hands to calm her.

She instantly yanked her hands away, her voice trembling with hurt. “Then what did you mean?”   She was practically pleading now.

Zoya’s brows furrowed in confusion as she tried to process what was happening, and then she realized. “Monet, I... I said you were Glinda because, even though you might seem shallow, superficial, or spoiled at first, it couldn't be further from the truth. You have the biggest heart of anyone I know. You’ve shown that you’ve learned from your mistakes, that you’ve grown.” She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, as if Monet should have already known.

“Oh.” Monet murmured to herself, guilt creeping in over her overreaction.

“And I don’t own anything pink,” Zoya teased, hoping for a laugh from Monet, and it worked. “Now come back to bed,” she said, pulling Monet closer as she drifted back to sleep.

Monet was about to respond when Zoya mumbled half-awake, “You’re both dramatic too, but maybe that’s what makes me love you more.”

Monet’s heart softened as she settled into Zoya’s embrace, feeling comforted.

**

The next morning, Monet seemed to wake up in much better spirits, and Zoya could sense it immediately. As they sat across from each other at the kitchen table working on their assignments, Zoya noticed Monet tapping her apple pencil rhythmically on the table, lost in thought. With her AirPods in, Monet barely seemed aware of her surroundings as she sang along to the Wicked soundtrack.

At first, it was just an absent-minded hum, barely audible. But by the time Zoya returned from her late-night lecture, Monet had let go completely, singing with abandon as if she were alone on stage.

Zoya entered the hallway, hanging up her jacket with a quiet sigh. As she slipped off her shoes, the unmistakable sound of Monet’s voice singing “The Wizard and I” drifted from their bedroom.

“Oh, what a pair we’ll be, the Wizard and I
Yes, what a pair we’ll be, the Wizard and –

Unlimited
My future is unlimited
And I’ve just had a vision, almost like a prophecy…”

A smile tugged at Zoya’s lips as she deliberately slowed her movements, listening to the raw passion Monet poured into the song. The way she lost herself in the music was something Zoya adored.

Zoya creaked the door open, just enough to catch a glimpse of Monet. Monet was standing in front of the mirror, a hairbrush in hand, using it as a microphone, completely unaware of Zoya’s presence. Finally, Zoya cleared her throat. “Okay I never thought I’d see you sing Wicked so loud. I think our neighbors might file a noise complaint,” she teased.

Monet froze mid-note, her eyes snapping open in surprise, her face flushing instantly. She yanked off her headphones with a startled laugh, caught completely off guard. "That’s because I didn’t know you were listening," she said with a pointed look. "Eavesdrop much?"

Without missing a beat, Monet walked over to Zoya, pulling her into the room. “I’m just getting ready for next year’s Halloween costume. I think I’m going to be Glinda, and you, of course, will be Elphaba.”

Zoya raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. “You’re planning a Halloween costume for next year already?

“Oh, I’m always planning ahead,” Monet replied, her tone playful. “I mean, part two of Wicked is coming out, and we’re going to the premiere in London. I’m going to fly us there.”

Zoya blinked at her, her jaw slightly dropping in surprise. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” she shot back, deadpan.

**

Zoya hadn’t realized just how deeply Monet had fallen for Wicked . It wasn’t just a passing phase; Monet was singing the songs all day, every day. It had become a full-on obsession. Zoya had grown so used to the familiar tunes echoing through their apartment that they almost became part of the background music to their lives.

But then, one day, as she listened to Monet belt out “Defying Gravity” for what felt like the hundredth time, an idea sparked in Zoya’s mind.

The next night, when Monet walked through the door after class, she was met with an unexpected surprise. Zoya had transformed their living room into a Wicked karaoke stage. The room was bathed in green and pink spotlights. Two microphones stood ready, and the projector screen displayed a list of songs to choose from.

Monet’s eyes went wide as she took in the scene. “You... you actually set this up for us?”

“Well, for you,” Zoya said with a grin, stepping aside to reveal the rest of the setup. “I thought it’d be fun. You’ve been singing Wicked all week, so why not take it to the next level?”

Monet was speechless, her heart swelling with affection for Zoya’s thoughtfulness. But after a moment, she snapped back into focus, straightening up and walking toward the microphone. “Alright, I’m ready. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Zoya, slightly taken aback, laughed. “Is this a duet or a duel?”

The playful comment sparked an idea in Monet’s mind. Determined, she began browsing through the list of songs, looking as if she were on a mission. Then, her eyes lit up when she found it. “This is perfect!” she announced, barely able to contain her enthusiasm.

Monet hit select, and the screen flickered to life, displaying What Is This Feeling? , the pink and green lines lighting up, ready for their duet.

As the song began, their voices blended in perfect harmony. The lyrics were fast, but they kept pace, laughing at how easily they slid into the rhythm of the song.

[MONET]

Dearest, darlingest Momsie and Popsical

[ZOYA]

My dear father

[TOGETHER]

There's been some confusion over rooming here at Shiz

[ZOYA]

But of course, I'll care for Nessa

[MONET]

But of course, I'll rise above it

[TOGETHER]

For I know that's how you'd want me to respond
Yes, there's been some confusion
For you see, my roommate is

[MONET]

Unusually and exceedingly peculiar

And altogether quite impossible to describe

[ZOYA]

A DE HAAN

Zoya’s change of lyrics caused Monet to gasp in mock offense. She shrugged, knowing Zoya had a point. They dove back into the song, and as they hit the next verse, both of them paused for a brief moment, realizing how the lyrics seemed to perfectly mirror their own relationship.

[MONET]

What is this feeling

So sudden and new?

[ZOYA]

I felt the moment

I laid eyes on you

As she sang the words, Zoya’s gaze shifted from the screen to Monet. Her mind drifted back to that first day at Constance, when she had first laid eyes on Monet in the courtyard. She remembered it felt like the world had stopped. Monet had looked at her with a cold stare, one that seemed to say she wanted to kill her. It was both intimidating and oddly captivating, leaving Zoya frozen in place, unable to look away.

A soft smile spread across her face as she sang the line, knowing it was more than just a lyric—it was their story.

[MONET]

My pulse is rushing

[ZOYA]

My head is reeling

[MONET]

Yeah, well, my face is flushing

[TOGETHER]
What is this feeling?
Fervid as a flame
Does it have a name?
Yes

Loathing
Unadulterated loathing

[MONET]

For your face

[ZOYA]

Your voice

[MONET]

Your clothing…

Monet made sure to deliver the line with her signature flair, pausing to look Zoya up and down before gesturing dramatically to her outfit.

[TOGETHER]
Let's just say, I loathe it all
Every little trait, however small
Makes my very flesh begin to crawl
With simple utter loathing
There's a strange exhilaration
In such total detestation
It's so pure, so strong
Though, I do admit, it came on fast
Still, I do believe that it can last
And I will be loathing
Loathing you
My whole life long

THE END