Chapter 15 : "The Mirror Doesn't Lie"
The path to the Mirror wasn't marked on any map.
Oriana led the way, barefoot and glowing, her hand tightly laced with Anya's as they moved through thick grass and narrow forest trails. The air was humid, heavy with the perfume of damp earth and wild ginger, birdsong flickering in and out of the silence like soft punctuation.
"We're close," Oriana whispered, pushing a branch aside. "I used to come here when everything felt too loud. Before I met you."
Anya followed her voice through the trees, heart pounding. It wasn't from the walk. It was the way Oriana spoke — like the truth was a delicate thing she was finally learning how to say out loud.
And then, through the foliage, it appeared.
A hidden cove cradled by old stone and knotted trees, a body of water still and gleaming like polished glass. There wasn't a ripple, not a sound — only the hush of the world listening.
They stepped into the clearing together, and Oriana whispered, "It's called The Mirror for a reason. It shows you everything. Even the parts you think you've buried."
Anya stared at the surface, seeing not just the reflection of the trees or the sky — but herself, standing beside someone who made her feel like she wasn't too much to hold.
"I've never seen anything like this," Anya breathed.
Oriana smiled, slipping her fingers down the hem of her dress.
"Then let's become part of it."
And just like that, she undressed — slow, without shame, letting the fabric fall to the grass. Anya stood frozen for a moment, watching the way the light kissed Oriana's bare skin, how nothing about her felt posed or self-conscious. She looked like a secret the forest had chosen to keep.
When Oriana stepped into the water, her body broke the reflection gently, sending out rings of silver. She turned and held out a hand.
Anya followed.
The water was cold at first — the kind that woke you up completely. Anya gasped when it reached her ribs, but Oriana only pulled her closer, pressing their foreheads together in the center of the stillness.
"Let the water take it," Oriana said softly. "The weight. The fear. The old versions of us."
They floated, suspended in a silence so deep it felt sacred.
And then Oriana spoke again, not looking away.
"I used to be afraid of being loved."
Anya blinked, her hands gently wrapped around Oriana's waist beneath the water.
"Why?"
"Because I thought it would mean changing who I was. Shrinking to fit into someone else's idea of me. But with you…" Oriana trailed off, her voice tight. "You make me feel more myself. Not less."
Anya didn't speak. She kissed her instead — a kiss that didn't demand anything, didn't rush or explain. A kiss like an answer.
They stayed in the water for a long time, letting the sky shift overhead. Dragonflies flitted by. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang — faint, like a memory. But here, in the Mirror, time moved differently.
They swam in circles, chasing one another, laughing through splashes and teasing hands. And when they grew tired, they floated again, heads touching, hands clasped just beneath the surface.
"What do you see?" Oriana asked, eyes turned to the reflection above.
Anya gazed up at the sky mirrored perfectly in the water.
"I see someone I want to stay with. Through mornings and fights and storms and silence. Through everything."
Oriana turned her head. "Even the dark parts?"
Anya didn't hesitate.
"Especially those."
Afterward, they dried off with clothes warmed by the sun, hair still wet and clinging to their backs. They sat on a fallen tree near the water's edge, legs dangling.
Oriana reached into her bag and pulled out something folded.
"I brought this. In case I got too scared to say it."
She handed Anya a page — lined, the ink smudged slightly, as if her hands had trembled while writing.
Anya opened it.
"You are not a passing thing.
You are not the soft ache of almost.
You are the voice that steadies me,
The heat in my coldest breath.
You are the place I want to come home to —
Even if I have to build that place myself."
Anya's throat tightened.
"I didn't know how to say it aloud," Oriana said softly. "But it's yours."
"I'm keeping it," Anya whispered. "Forever."
She folded the page and kissed Oriana — gently, then again with more need, more certainty.
And beneath the shade of the trees, their hands found each other again.
They didn't speak much on the walk back.
But their silence was full — like soft music humming between them. Oriana kept brushing her knuckles against Anya's as they walked, not quite holding hands but not quite letting go either.
By the time they reached the guesthouse, the sky had turned orange. Dinner smells drifted through the village — grilled meat, sticky rice, coconut milk.
But neither of them were hungry.
They climbed into bed early, this time facing each other under the thin blanket, hearts pressed close, legs intertwined.
"I want to ask you something," Anya whispered.
"Anything."
"If you close your eyes, and imagine the life you want… what do you see?"
Oriana blinked, thoughtful. "I see a small place near water. Books everywhere. Flowers on the window. You painting in the morning. Me cooking something too spicy for you."
Anya laughed. "Sounds about right."
"And what about you?"
Anya brushed her nose against Oriana's. "I see your laugh in every room. I see us growing old, slowly, with softness. I see a love that doesn't end when the passion quiets — one that keeps folding into itself, deeper and deeper."
Oriana swallowed.
Then whispered, "Stay."
"I'm already staying."
"No, I mean — really stay. After the festival. After everything."
Anya cupped her cheek. "Yes. A thousand times yes."
That night, they made love again.
Slower this time. Quieter.
Their bodies learning not just how to touch, but how to listen — how to offer, how to ask, how to hold. Oriana kissed the place just beneath Anya's collarbone and murmured, "You are my favorite part of this world."
Anya held her close, whispered in her ear, "You are the light that showed me I was never hard to love."
No one else would hear those words.
They belonged only to this room, to this night, to this version of them that had dared to hope.
In the early hours, Anya woke to find Oriana sitting by the window, wearing only the blanket, knees pulled to her chest.
"What are you doing?" she asked softly.
Oriana turned, moonlight catching her profile. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
There was a pause.
Then: "How lucky I am."
Anya stood, wrapping her arms around her from behind.
"Me too."
They stayed like that — the window open, the stars quiet above them, the scent of river and memory floating in.
"I never thought I'd find a place I wanted to stay," Oriana whispered.
"And now?"
"Now I want to build one with you."
Anya pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. "Then we will."