I was so mad and frustrated that I didn’t even realize tears were streaming down my cheeks. Because I called out toxic masculinity, I had random men attacking me. I didn’t care that they called me a bitch. I didn’t care about what they said about my looks, my relationship prospects, or even my opinion. The thing that caused my body to convulse was the fact that the one guy insinuated sexually assaulting me. The thing that brought tears to my eyes was that in standing up for the objectification of women, I was not only objectified, I was threatened.

Using the heel of my hand, I wiped my eyes. Fortunately, I didn’t put on any makeup, so nothing smeared. But my eyes were pink, and my face was flushed. It looked like I’d been crying. Since I had a few minutes, I closed my eyes for a while, hoping to look normal again as soon as possible.

“Close enough,” I muttered as I surveyed if the two-minute meditation helped.

As I walked to the door, I was so in my head that when I saw Carlos, I was caught off guard. I stopped in my tracks.

My heart skipped a beat. “H-hey, Carlos.”

He looked at me quizzically. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I replied awkwardly.

He wore black pants and a black button up shirt. Something about him in all black was mesmerizing. Just seeing him made the tears well up in my eyes as I thought about everything that happened on the call and everything that had happened between us.

Two people from class walked passed us, and he moved closer to me to get out of the way. I could smell his cologne. I inhaled deeply with my eyes closed, and when I opened them, he was staring at me.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Looking up at him, I let myself feel the feelings he stirred within me. I wanted to kiss him or at the very least hug him. But I just stood there, staring at him, missing him from a foot away. “I’m okay. Are you okay?”

He licked his lips. “I’m okay.”

Our exchange was painfully awkward and brimming with combustible energy. He didn’t say anything. He just stared at me. He licked his lips and took a step back, rubbing the back of his neck.

“We should get inside,” he declared, turning toward the entrance.

I followed behind him and when he opened the door, he stepped to the side for me to enter first.

“Thank you,” I said as I walked passed him. I stopped five steps after entering the building. “Wow.”

Groups of photos were framed and hanging on a display wall. A red, velvet rope kept anyone from getting too close, but I could tell there were rows of display walls positioned behind the initial one that greeted us.

“Wow is right,” he agreed, standing close enough that I could smell his cologne. As if realizing he was two seconds away from being nuzzled by me, he moved to the other side of the room. He got as far away from me as possible and I felt his rejection down to my soul. I didn’t have long to process why it hurt my feelings the way it did because Luca Romano made his grand entrance.

“Hello, fellow photographers! Welcome to your special showcase at Rich Gallery. Whereas one photo can catch a viewer’s eye, multiple photos can tell a story. Creating a photo story is the combination of art and storytelling. You begin with planning what story you want to tell. Each individual photo contributes to the theme, the structure, and the message of your final project. Everything we’ve done over the last few weeks has led us to this.” He stretched his arms out wide. “And here we are… your final assignment. Your work is on display and you are going to have to communicate your story to the rest of us. Each of you will have three minutes. By the time we’re done, the doors will be opened, and you will be free to show off your talents to your friends and family. Are we ready?”

We moved to the first set of pictures. At first glance it was food, but there was something off about each picture.

Luca opened his arms. “First, we have the work of Lourdes”—we all clapped politely— “But instead of Lourdes telling us about her work, we’re going to invite Duke to tell us the story.”

Everyone murmured in confusion. Duke walked up slowly, his eyes darted around as if he were still trying to understand what he saw.

“Take a minute and just tell us what story you’re gathering,” Luca explained, his tone encouraging as he held his notepad poised.

Duke surveyed the makeshift wall of photos. “Lourdes is telling us about food. She’s reminding us of where the meat we eat comes from by having the plated dish and the live animal somewhere in the background. Almost like a before and after.” He looked over at Luca. “That’s all I got.”

“That’s all you need,” he replied with a smile. “Very good. Thank you.”

Everyone clapped.

We moved to the back of that wall and there were eight more photos positioned. I tried to find the common link as Lourdes approached the display slowly.

“Duke is commenting on the homeless situation in our country with pictures of people who live on the street?” The tail end of her sentence ended in a higher pitched voice as if she were questioning her own interpretation.

“Are you asking us or telling us, Lourdes?” Luca questioned.

“Telling?”

“Are you sure? Tell us again.”

“Duke has pictures of panhandlers with signs. Some look dirtier than others. Maybe some are homeless and maybe some aren’t. But all of them are asking for help.”

“Very good,” Luca commented, clapping. “Thank you.”

As a class, we moved through nine other duos before we arrived at mine. I smiled as my classmates murmured.

“Here we have Akila’s project,” Luca announced. “Carlos, would you please tell us the story Akila is telling?”

Carlos gave me a sidelong look before moving toward the photos. He silently assessed the photos before turning so we could see his face. He stroked his beard before he opened his mouth. “Akila is doing a role-reversal, objectifying men to the degree that women are objectified.”

Just the fact that he got it gave me butterflies.

“Excellent!” Luca commented, giving him a huge grin. “Thank you.”

Carlos looked at me and the corner of his lips turned upward. The slight smile coiled a knot in my belly and heated my cheeks.

Maybe there’s a chance—okay, maybe not.

Carlos turned his back on me so fast that if I wasn’t devastated, it would’ve been almost comical. Pushing my feelings down, I walked around the wall with the rest of the class.

I can do all things, I reminded myself as I moved toward the front since it was my turn.

I took in several eye-catching photos of the same couple.

“Akila,” Luca beckoned. “Please tell us what you see. What is Carlos telling us?”

“Carlos used the same two people in each of the shots. It’s clear they are romantically linked from the public displays of affection. Each of the locations are different so it’s showing different moments in the couple’s relationship. Carlos is taking us on a romantic journey between two people who are possibly in love,” I offered.

Luca made a notation in his notebook. “Very nice! But what makes you assume they’re in love?”

I pointed to the close-up of the couple. Their profiles were sharp as they looked at each other angrily. “This isn’t the end of the story.” I pointed to the next photo of the couple holding hands watching the sunrise. “And this being the next photo shows that they got through it. That’s part of what loving someone is—forgiving them, overcoming obstacles.”

“Excellent, thank you.” Luca grinned at me before turning to the next wall.

My eyes lingered on Carlos’s pictures for a minute before I tore my eyes away. When I turned my head, I caught him staring at me. He only held my gaze for a few seconds before turning toward our classmate.

Each time he pointedly ignored me felt like a punch in the gut. I wanted to talk to him. I needed to talk to him. But after blocking him and walking away from his apology, I understood why he’d ignore me. I understood why he would stand on the other side of the room even though we were partners. But it still hurt.

I exhaled and tried to shake it off.

We finished the final six photo stories and while I politely clapped on cue and stared straight ahead, I couldn’t stop thinking about Carlos. I didn’t hear the words used to describe what we were looking at because my thoughts kept returning to Carlos’s photo story. I glanced over at him. He was the embodiment of physical perfection, and I marveled at how he was also the epitome of complexity. Since I’d met him, he managed to be nothing like I expected, and his final project was no exception. I didn’t expect his work to be so romantic although something about his photos nagged me.

We’d made it to the back of the gallery when the sound of people entering the building carried through the space.

“It’s seven o’clock,” Luca announced. He clapped once and had an excited gleam in his eyes. “Your work is officially on display. We’re going to head to the front, and then you are free to greet your guests. I’m going to say a few words, we’ll have a champagne toast, and then the show is yours. While I want you to mingle, be mindful that you should remain close to your exhibit so you can interact with those who are taking in your work. Follow me.”

Leading the charge, Luca marched toward the red velvet rope that separated us and our work from the people who had just arrived. While it sounded like a ton of people, I knew that most of those people were there to see Luca. We all knew that he posted it on his social media page, and tickets sold out mere hours after he’d posted. But it was still cool that so many people were going to see our work.

As I was about to pass Carlos’s work, I slowed to a stop and stepped out of the way of the people behind me. Since I felt rushed when I had only a couple of minutes to describe his photo story, I wanted the opportunity to take my time.

Couple passing notes at a table. Couple at a bar. Couple at dinner. Couple kissing under the stars. Couple in bed. Couple angrily facing each other. Couple holding hands at sunrise. Wait…

My heart rate quickened.

I backed up to get a better look at the entire story, and I noticed something out the corner of my eye. I glanced over my shoulder. Carlos stood with his hands in his pockets watching me.

My stomach flipped.

“Carlos,” I whispered.

I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared at him. So many things ran through my mind, but I didn’t know where to start. For a full minute, the indistinct chatter stopped, and the gallery was eerily silent. We stood in the stillness, both of us waiting for the other to make a move. I couldn’t read him. His handsome face displayed no emotion and his brown eyes gave nothing away. It hurt to look at him, but I couldn’t bear to look away. My thoughts and emotions were all over the place and even though I couldn’t deny how I felt, I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.

Suddenly the sound of people broke the trance we were in.

He took a step toward me. “Akila.”

Just hearing my name roll off his tongue was enough to fill my eyes with tears.

I tucked my clutch under my arm and brought both of my hands to my heart. I knew there wasn’t much time and that people would be surrounding us soon. But when I looked into his eyes, I just wanted to tell him everything I was feeling. I wanted him to know that I missed him. I wanted him to know that I did what I thought was best for me. I wanted him to know that I had feelings for him. I wanted to tell him that I heard the podcast. I wanted to just confess everything to him and let the chips fall where they may. But when I opened my mouth, none of that came out.

Taking a step toward him, my nerves twisted my stomach into knots. “Was I right about your story?” I asked in a hushed tone.

He moved toward me. “What do you think?”

I was quiet for a moment as I took a step toward him. We were only a foot away from one another. “I think I was right,” I murmured. “I think it’s about two people falling in love.”

“It was supposed to be something that makes a statement.” He paused. “I can’t think of a bigger statement to make.”

I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry I blocked you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

My eyes watered. “I heard the podcast. I heard you defend me. I heard…everything.”

Grabbing my face with his hands, Carlos closed the space between us. Capturing my mouth with his own, he kissed me with a tenderness that caused the tears to escape from my closed eyelids. He moved his hands from my face and down my neck and shoulders. He continued traveling down my arms until he wrapped his arms around me. Pulling me flush against his body, he deepened the kiss causing me to whimper lightly. It was so intense, it felt like he was trying to express what he felt for me through his lips.

I slid my hands up his arms until I clasped them around his neck. I started to feel weak as butterflies spread across my belly and through my entire body. My knees weakened in my boots, and he gripped me tighter, holding me steady.

When he pulled away from the kiss, he just stared at me. His mouth hovered over mine and his fingers dug into my lower back. “I quit the podcast.”

“What?” I breathed, staring up at him wide eyed.

“After what happened, I couldn’t do it. I’m sorry it took so long for me to see what you were saying, but I swear to God I won’t ever let anything happen to you.” He swept a tear from my cheek and then returned his hand to my lower back. “Akila?”

“Hmm?” I murmured, relishing the way he held me.

“You know I’ll protect you, right?” he asked with unquestionable sincerity.

“From toxic masculinity?”

“From everything. Anything you can’t handle, give it to me.” He kissed me. “I want you.”

A smile crept across my face. “Yeah, I can feel that.”

“No,” he chuckled. “I meant, I want you—all of you. I want to be with you.”

I didn’t have the words to express what I felt inside, so I pressed my lips against his.

“Ahem!” The sound of my father clearing his voice rang in my ears.

“Kiki?” The sound of my mom saying my name startled us apart.

“Hey!” I greeted my family cheerfully, giving them a brief hug. “We were just… I mean, this is—”

“I’m Carlos,” he reached forward and shook my dad’s hand first and then went around the group. “It’s great to meet each of you. Akila speaks highly of you.”

I grinned. “Where’s Alex?”

“Salivating over your photos” Meghan’s eyes shifted to Carlos, a huge grin on her face. “Carlos, Carlos, Carlos… It’s nice to officially put a name with a face.”

A little bit of me died of embarrassment. Only to be resurrected and die again when my mom started speaking.

“Oh! This is Carlos, Carlos!” My mom’s eyebrows shot up and her smile grew even larger. “Pleasure to meet you! You’re so good-looking! We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Well, I haven’t. How do you know our daughter, young man?” my dad inquired.

I knew my dad was joking, but Carlos didn’t. “Dad,” I admonished him with a smile.

“We actually met in photography class and then we worked together for a little while at Re-Mix,” Carlos answered.

“When did this happen?” My mom gestured to the two of us. “Last time I checked, you don’t kiss your classmates.”

Slipping my hand into his, I stared up at him and smiled. He gazed at me with a look of affection and amusement.

“Carlos!” a beautiful couple shouted as soon as they came around the corner.

He let go of my hand to hug them. Returning to me, he draped his arm around my shoulders. “Mom, Dad, this is Akila. Akila, these are my parents.”

I shook their hands and introduced them to my family.

“Kiki, I love it! Oh!” Alex exclaimed. “Hi, everyone.” She looked around surprised but seemingly confused. Her eyes found her way to Carlos’s arm draped around my shoulder. “Well, well, well, what’s this?”

I giggled, looking up at him. “Alex, Carlos and I are—”

“Together,” he answered.

“Wait…” Alex’s smile dimmed. “Carlos from Date Night with The Lost Boys?”

My stomach tied itself into so many knots that it ached. “Let me explain,” I answered.

She turned around and walked away.

Shit!

“What’s wrong?” Mom asked, looking around.

Dad eyed Carlos. “What’s this Date Night?”

“It’s a podcast I used to work with,” Carlos answered.

“What?!” his mom cried, putting her hands to her cheeks. “You never told us you were on a podcast!”

“I quit.” Carlos rubbed my arm. “It’s a long story, but I’m no longer part of the program.”

“She didn’t know he quit.” I looked at my parents. “I’ll explain later, but I’m going to go find her.”

Alex hadn’t gotten that far. I saw her near the door when I started making my way to the front.

“Alex!” I called out to my sister as I maneuvered through the crowd of people and through the entrance of Rich Gallery. “Alex, wait!”

“I can’t believe you!” Her voice cut through the gentle October breeze. She folded her arms over her chest and squeezed her eyelids shut. When she opened them again, she gave me the saddest look. “You of all people know what they did to me. How could you be with him?”

“Alex, listen,” I stepped toward her. When she didn’t recoil, I took another step and wrapped my arms around her. “First and foremost, if Carlos would’ve had anything to do with that newsletter, I would’ve never forgiven him. That wasn’t him. I found out it was City Boy.” Pulling away, I looked into her eyes. “City Boy thought the email was about me and even when he found out it was you, he put your picture in the newsletter to hurt me.”

“What?! It wasn’t random?” Alex gasped.

I shook my head. “I’m sorry. He was trying to take me down, and you were collateral damage.”

“When did you find out? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“The night I went on Date Night. I forgot my notebook and when I went back to get it, I overheard City Boy and Country Boy talking. City Boy did the newsletter on his own as a way to fuck with me. I was going to tell you eventually. But I felt so responsible and you didn’t want to talk about it, so I waited. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry for what he did.” She paused. “But you should’ve told me all of this.”

“I didn’t want to make things worse.”

She shook her head. “It actually makes me feel a little better.”

My eyebrows flew up. “Really?”

“Well, knowing it wasn’t random and knowing there was a reason behind it besides…” She shook her head and wrapped her arms around her middle. “It sucks, and I hate that he would do that to you. But knowing City Boy did that to me for a reason that wasn’t just some perverted sexual objectification is better. Not by much, but it’s better.”

“So, can you forgive me?”

Her head tilted and pulled me into a hug. “Of course.” She squeezed me tightly. “I heard his name and remembered why he looked familiar and overreacted. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I should’ve told you sooner.”

“I hope I didn’t ruin your showcase.”

I pulled out of the hug. “Not at all. But I should get back in there.”

With our arms linked, we walked back into the building. “Do you think Mom and Dad will judge me if I linger at your wall of photos instead of checking out everyone else’s?”

I let out a short laugh. “They won’t judge you for looking any more than they judged me for taking them.”

She giggled.

We found our parents talking with Carlos’s parents. I stopped to join the conversation, but Alex continued walking. When she approached Carlos, I watched silently as they talked. I didn’t know what was being discussed, but he listened intently while she talked. He nodded and after he said whatever he said, they hugged.

“What are you smiling at?” Meghan asked, calling me out.

“I’m just happy,” I giggled. “Where were you?”

“Bathroom and then checking out your photography again.” She smiled. “You’re very talented.”

“Thank you. I should probably go over and engage with people about the story.”

Her eyes widened. “There’s a story?”

I couldn’t do anything but laugh.

“Looks like they made up,” Meghan whispered as she walked with me to my photo wall.

“Yeah. I never got around to telling her what I found out about the newsletter.” I glanced over at Carlos and Alex who were both smiling.

“Looks like you two made up as well.” She bumped me with her hip.

I felt warm all over. “I don’t know what it is about him.”

Meghan pointed to the third picture in my photo story and quirked an eyebrow. “D-I-C you have a great balance of light and shadow. Oh, hey, Mrs. Bishara!”

Mom eyed us suspiciously before breaking into a huge grin. “Hmm… you two always look like you’re up to no good.”

“We would never!” I feigned shock, making Meghan giggle.

“Well, your father and I are going to check out the other exhibits with Carlos’s parents.”

My eyes widened. “Like a double date?”

“If that’s what you want to call it.” Mom laughed. “We want to continue talking. Your father and Alberto used to work for the same company and Pam and I love art. What can I say? We hit it off!”

The idea of the four of them becoming friends made me nervous for some reason.

We decided that we were going to be in a relationship and we met each other’s families all within the same five-minute timespan. I took a shaky breath. What if everything blows up in our faces?

“We’ll be back,” Mom informed me before walking back to Dad and her new friends, Mr. and Mrs. Richmond.

“I’ll listen in on the conversation for you and report back,” Meghan murmured as soon as Mom was out of earshot.

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much.”

Meghan walked off to follow the parents, and Alex fell into step with her. Carlos walked over to me, but I couldn’t read his face.

“Our parents seem to like each other,” Carlos pointed out.

“I know… which is cool,” I replied, carefully choosing my words.

“Very cool.”

“But…”

“Weird?”

“Yes!”

We stood there grinning at one another.

“This is Akila Bishara,” Luca Romano interrupted, walking over with a woman. “She is the photographer for Sweatpants Season. Akila, this is Joan Stanford. She wanted to meet you.”

I reached out and shook Joan’s hand. “Hi, Ms. Stanford! Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you as well. Call me Joan. I’m interested in knowing more about your photo story for a writeup for The Herald.”

The Herald? The. Herald. The Herald! They wouldn’t even respond to my submission requests and now I’m talking to Joan Stanford of THE HEARLD! I internally screamed.

“Oh, wow. Yes, of course.” Beaming at Carlos and then Luca, I turned to begin discussing my project with Joan Stanford of The Herald. “Women are primarily the target of objectification, so I wanted to turn the tables…”