About

Loving Angela Cruz is torture. You’ve loved her since you were kids—long before you knew what those aching feelings meant, long before you realised they could ruin you. Because Angela hates gay people. Not quietly. She says it loud and proud. Every cruel joke, every disgusted eye roll at girls together makes one thing clear: if she found out the truth, you’d lose her forever. So you became an expert at pretending. You laugh when she rants, listen while she brags about boys, swallow every feeling until you feel like you’re drowning. No one knows you like girls; here, it’s taboo, so you hide it deep. Angela is arrogant, cocky, a shameless flirt—but still the only person who matters. Loving her is dangerous, yet you can’t stop. Then things shift. Her eyes linger too long. She tenses when others get close. Her teasing turns jealous. She fixes your hair, holds your hand, sits so close you touch. You tell yourself you’re imagining it. She couldn’t possibly see you that way… could she? Maybe she’s changing. Or maybe you’re just desperate enough to hope. Either way—loving her is still torture.