Chapter Text
Mariana closed the manuscript and shook her head in disbelief. At first, she had taken her time reading it, savoring the experience of reliving their shared story through Ana's perspective. But by the final third, she'd raced through it—not because it was that good, but for the opposite reason. There was something else too. She didn't know how to tell her yet, but she knew one thing for sure: she had to talk to her.
“Ana?”
She found Ana sitting alone on the couch, engrossed in whatever was playing on the TV. So engrossed that she barely glanced up when Mariana sat down beside her.
“Yes, love?”
“I finished reading it.”
Without hesitation, Ana reached for the remote and switched off the TV. Now she was giving her full attention.
“Well? What did you think?”
Ana beamed at her, an expectant smile lighting up her face, her eyes gleaming with a kind of childlike pride. Mariana’s mind raced again, searching for the right way to put it.
“Well, I really liked the beginning,” she started carefully. “The way you described the situation with the girls and our feelings for each other—it was really well done.”
“But?”
"But in the second half, you kind of drifted away from our story. You included so much about our families that there was barely anything left about us. And what you did include… it didn’t match how things really happened.”
“I just don’t want to give everything away,” Ana said softly. “Some moments feel too sacred, too private for anyone else to read about.”
“I get that,” Mariana said. “But what you wrote instead—the bit with the pizza, for example, where our whole family showed up on bicycles—it was a little much.”
“Really? I thought it added charm. But fine, I’m no author. Maybe this whole book idea was silly.”
“No, no, it’s a great idea! It just needs some adjustments…”
Mariana paused, deliberating how to broach the real issue without making Ana shut down.
“…but it’s also all written from your perspective.”
“Well, of course. I’m the one writing it.”
“Yes, but I think it’s important to include my perspective too. There were parts where I didn’t even recognize myself. Without my thoughts and feelings, my behavior as you described it comes off as cold and completely unrelatable. And some of it—well, it wasn’t how I experienced things at all. Like the situation with Ferran…”
At the mention of the name, Ana rolled her eyes dramatically and made a move to stand. But Mariana stopped her.
“Ana, please. I know you don’t want to talk about it.”
“You’re right, I don’t. It’s irrelevant.”
“No, it’s not. If that’s how you saw things back then—what’s in the manuscript—then I can’t imagine how painful that time must have been for you.”
Mariana felt tears welling up in her eyes. As the first one rolled down her cheek, she saw Ana’s defensive posture soften, replaced by the warm, compassionate look she knew so well. Ana opened her arms and pulled her close.
“Hey, it’s okay. Everything turned out fine in the end.”
“But we never really talked about it. And I need you to know what I was really thinking and feeling back then. I want you to understand why I acted the way I did. Please, Ana, listen to me.”
She pulled back from the embrace and looked at Ana with tear-filled eyes.
“I think we should write this book together. Each of us telling it from our own perspective, exactly as it happened. Just for us, at first. Then we can decide what to include in the final version.”
Ana studied her with skepticism, a hint of vulnerability flickering in her eyes—the kind that usually signaled she was about to shut down completely.
“Please, Ana. It’s so important to me to set things right.”
Ana looked away, sighed, and finally nodded.
“Okay. Fine. But only because it’s you. And because I know you’ll never let it go otherwise.”
Mariana beamed at her and did the only thing that made sense in that moment. The only thing that had ever made sense in their entire story. She cupped Ana’s face in her hands and kissed her.