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starlightsaoirsethis is probably one of the hardest things i've ever written.
It was just so wrong.
Aralyn had met Aadi her freshman year. She’d first caught sight of that lithe, lanky frame crossing campus and was struck by how beautiful he was. The feeling of being utterly tongue-tied was a rare one for her, but it was definitely well-earned. He smiled at her as she passed, dark eyes sparkling, and she literally went weak in the knees. So cliché, but so very, very true.
They met officially a week later, at an Alliance meeting. She learned his name and that he was bi. He was outspoken and passionate, and her respect for him grew as she saw the absolute joy with which he lived his life. That bright smile that had hit her so hard was contagious, around him.
A few weeks later, Aralyn’s vision of KSA as a haven was shattered. She’d worn her identity as a bisexual freely, openly, with no second thoughts; this wasn’t high school, and this wasn’t a small town. The words that had been said stung so much more than the physical part of the attack. She was curled up on a park bench in a secluded part of campus, face buried in her knees as she cried, when Aadi had happened by.
He hadn’t said a word, at first; he’d just sat next to her, leaving a careful space. When she’d begun to lean into him, he’d wrapped his arms around her, murmuring soothingly in a language she did not know. When she finally told him what had happened, he understood that the shock of it happening here, where all types of people ought to be free to express themselves and still be safe, hurt as deeply as what had been done, and grieved with her. He then insisted that she accompany him back to his dorm so that he could cook for her. She couldn’t have denied him anything.
He chatted with her while he cooked, comfortable in the kitchen. She calmed quickly in his presence. Soon, they settled at a table to share their food, traditional Nepali fare, he told her; it smelled delicious. She glanced around for silverware, and he laughed at her, a sound as bright and free as his smile. Silly girl, he’d told her, you must eat with your hands.
They were fast friends after that, though she didn’t necessarily spend the most of her time with him. They went to karaoke bars and explored the city together; they studied together; they could call one another at any time, for any reason. They laughed and cried together. She had never known anyone so completely alive and in love with life, for life’s sake. He had big dreams, dreams of changing the world, dreams of social justice across race, sex, and identity. She never doubted for a minute that he could accomplish anything he set his mind to; Aadi was simply a force.
After he graduated, one year before her, he went back to Nepal; his student visa was out, and he was having trouble securing another that would allow him to work. He was content, nonetheless, to return home and re-learn its beauty and find its new adventures.
There was no reason at all to be standing here, a year later. Her mind could not make sense of it, even nearly a week after—there had to have been a mistake. Such clichéd thoughts, again, but all she could think, nonetheless.
Aadi had introduced the campus to the Holi festival, in which colored powder was shared—thrown on one another—as a celebration of spring, life, beginnings. It had become an annual event. She could see him, clear as day, spattered with rose-scented powder, painted blue, purple, yellow by its touch—laughing, and determined to get the powder in her hair.
It was right, to celebrate him in this way. There were tears in her eyes as she gripped her little bag of green powder, but they didn’t fall. Around her, in similar state, were friends and classmates—all of whom had been touched by Aadi, all of whom had been warmed by his smile, cheered by his laughter, and blessed to have known him.
She didn’t see who threw the first handful, but it set off a reaction. Soon, the entire crowd was engaged, throwing colored powder, laughing through the tears that escaped. The powder created a fine mist in the air, coating everyone in its path. By the end of it, when all the powder was gone, the group—incredibly diverse, but united, in this—collapsed together, still laughing. Still remembering. Still celebrating.
It was just so wrong.
Aralyn had met Aadi her freshman year. She’d first caught sight of that lithe, lanky frame crossing campus and was struck by how beautiful he was. The feeling of being utterly tongue-tied was a rare one for her, but it was definitely well-earned. He smiled at her as she passed, dark eyes sparkling, and she literally went weak in the knees. So cliché, but so very, very true.
They met officially a week later, at an Alliance meeting. She learned his name and that he was bi. He was outspoken and passionate, and her respect for him grew as she saw the absolute joy with which he lived his life. That bright smile that had hit her so hard was contagious, around him.
A few weeks later, Aralyn’s vision of KSA as a haven was shattered. She’d worn her identity as a bisexual freely, openly, with no second thoughts; this wasn’t high school, and this wasn’t a small town. The words that had been said stung so much more than the physical part of the attack. She was curled up on a park bench in a secluded part of campus, face buried in her knees as she cried, when Aadi had happened by.
He hadn’t said a word, at first; he’d just sat next to her, leaving a careful space. When she’d begun to lean into him, he’d wrapped his arms around her, murmuring soothingly in a language she did not know. When she finally told him what had happened, he understood that the shock of it happening here, where all types of people ought to be free to express themselves and still be safe, hurt as deeply as what had been done, and grieved with her. He then insisted that she accompany him back to his dorm so that he could cook for her. She couldn’t have denied him anything.
He chatted with her while he cooked, comfortable in the kitchen. She calmed quickly in his presence. Soon, they settled at a table to share their food, traditional Nepali fare, he told her; it smelled delicious. She glanced around for silverware, and he laughed at her, a sound as bright and free as his smile. Silly girl, he’d told her, you must eat with your hands.
They were fast friends after that, though she didn’t necessarily spend the most of her time with him. They went to karaoke bars and explored the city together; they studied together; they could call one another at any time, for any reason. They laughed and cried together. She had never known anyone so completely alive and in love with life, for life’s sake. He had big dreams, dreams of changing the world, dreams of social justice across race, sex, and identity. She never doubted for a minute that he could accomplish anything he set his mind to; Aadi was simply a force.
After he graduated, one year before her, he went back to Nepal; his student visa was out, and he was having trouble securing another that would allow him to work. He was content, nonetheless, to return home and re-learn its beauty and find its new adventures.
There was no reason at all to be standing here, a year later. Her mind could not make sense of it, even nearly a week after—there had to have been a mistake. Such clichéd thoughts, again, but all she could think, nonetheless.
Aadi had introduced the campus to the Holi festival, in which colored powder was shared—thrown on one another—as a celebration of spring, life, beginnings. It had become an annual event. She could see him, clear as day, spattered with rose-scented powder, painted blue, purple, yellow by its touch—laughing, and determined to get the powder in her hair.
It was right, to celebrate him in this way. There were tears in her eyes as she gripped her little bag of green powder, but they didn’t fall. Around her, in similar state, were friends and classmates—all of whom had been touched by Aadi, all of whom had been warmed by his smile, cheered by his laughter, and blessed to have known him.
She didn’t see who threw the first handful, but it set off a reaction. Soon, the entire crowd was engaged, throwing colored powder, laughing through the tears that escaped. The powder created a fine mist in the air, coating everyone in its path. By the end of it, when all the powder was gone, the group—incredibly diverse, but united, in this—collapsed together, still laughing. Still remembering. Still celebrating.