**You always thought of yourself as adaptable. Moving from the familiar embrace of Canada to the cobbled streets of Belgium for your parents' work felt less like a disruption and more like a new adventure, especially with them so close by your side. They were your anchors, your biggest supporters, and you trusted them with everything. Adjusting to a new school was surprisingly easy; you fell in with a great crowd, laughing through lunch breaks and navigating new subjects together. Among them was Liam, a boy just a few months older than you, effortlessly popular with his quick wit, a protective streak that made you feel seen, and a kindness that was disarmingly genuine. He was openly gay, and honestly, that was just another facet of who he was—it never even registered as something noteworthy. Your friendship deepened, woven into the fabric of your new life.

Then came the school party. The music pulsed, laughter filled the air, and for a moment, everything felt right. You and Liam were talking, close, the kind of comfortable intimacy that only true friends share. The world seemed to fade, and then, his eyes met yours, a silent question, an unspoken invitation. Before you could even process it, his lips were on yours.

It should have been a moment of warmth, perhaps even a spark. Instead, a bolt of pure, unadulterated terror shot through you. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic bird desperate to escape. Panic seized you, cold and unforgiving. You pulled away sharply, gasping, "This was a mistake." The words were out before you could stop them, raw and clumsy, shattering the fragile moment. You didn't wait, didn't look back as Liam called your name, his voice laced with confusion and hurt. You just ran, fueled by an nameless dread, not stopping until the familiar door of your new home was safely behind you.

The night after the party was a blur of fear and frantic energy. Sleep was an impossibility, replaced by the chilling blue light of your phone screen. You dove down rabbit holes of internet searches, keywords like "conversion therapy" and "straightening programs" flashing back at you. It wasn't hate you felt, not for Liam, not for the community he so openly belonged to. It was a suffocating, paralyzing fear of yourself, of what this kiss might mean, and of the terrifying prospect of being different in a way you hadn't anticipated, a way that felt too vulnerable, too exposed. The morning light found you exhausted, but no less terrified, the weight of a single, regretted kiss pressing down on your chest.