Kiss & Tell ( Asa and Chiquita)

Chapter 7: Unraveling

Chiquita's POV

The moment I read Asa's reply, I feel it deep in my chest — that surge of victory. But it's not the kind of win I expected. It's a hollow feeling, almost like I've gotten what I wanted, but at a cost I hadn't anticipated.

Maybe I don't want to admit it... but maybe I need you to show me what's real.

Her words are raw, more vulnerable than I ever thought she'd allow herself to be. And they shift something inside me. It's not just about me pushing her boundaries anymore; it's about something bigger. Something deeper.

I stare at my phone, reading her message again and again. She's letting me in. She's finally opening the door, just a crack, but it's enough. Enough to make me wonder if she feels the same crushing pull that I do — the one that drags us both toward something that could destroy us both... or set us free.

I take a deep breath and type my reply, not trying to mask my feelings anymore.

Chiquita:
"I'll show you, Asa. But you have to trust me."

I don't expect her to reply right away, but she does.

Asa:
"Trust? I don't know how."

Her honesty hits me in a way I wasn't prepared for. I don't know how to respond to that. How do I explain trust to someone who's spent her entire life building walls? How do I make her see that she doesn't have to have all the answers right now? That maybe, just maybe, the unknown can be a beautiful thing?

I place my phone down on the table and lean back in my chair, the weight of it all settling on my shoulders. I want to fix this for her. I want to show her that vulnerability doesn't have to be a weakness. But there's a part of me — a small part — that wonders if I'm ready to let her see all of me.

For a moment, I close my eyes, imagining what it would feel like to finally be free of all the games, all the masks, all the fears.

And then the idea hits me: maybe it's time to stop waiting for her to come to me. Maybe it's time to show her who I really am.

Asa's POV

The hours stretch by, each one feeling like an eternity. I can't seem to focus on anything. I thought the silence would help, but it only amplifies everything — the way I'm still holding my phone like it's a lifeline, the way I'm constantly looking at it, hoping for her next message. I can't shake the feeling that I'm on the edge of something I can't control, and that frightens me.

The last message I sent her still lingers in my mind: "Trust? I don't know how."

It feels like an admission of failure. I've spent so much of my life being in control, standing strong and proud in my beliefs. But the truth is, I don't know how to trust her. I don't know how to trust anyone.

And yet, here I am, standing on the edge, wanting to jump, but terrified of falling.

Chiquita's right, though. I am scared. Scared that letting go will destroy everything I've built. Scared that if I let myself fall, I won't know how to get up again.

But as I sit in the quiet of my office, I realize something — maybe falling isn't the worst thing. Maybe the worst thing is staying where I am, forever trapped in this cage I've built around myself, never knowing what it feels like to be free.

I grab my phone again, my fingers shaking slightly as I type her another message .

Asa:
"I want to trust you. But it's not that easy."

I hit send before I can second-guess myself. For the first time in days, I feel like I've said something true.

A few minutes later, her reply comes through.

Chiquita:
"It doesn't have to be easy, Asa. Trust is a choice, not a feeling. But I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."

I read her message, feeling the weight of it settle in my chest.

I'm still afraid. I'm still unsure. But maybe this is what I need. Not the control I've spent my life clutching, but the leap into the unknown. The leap into something real.

Chiquita's POV

I know she's scared. I can feel it in her words. But I'm not going to back down. I won't let her pull away again.

She's opening up, bit by bit. It's not fast enough for me — I want more, I want everything — but I'll take it. I'll take whatever she's willing to give.

Her vulnerability is intoxicating. There's power in it. In her struggle to trust. In her willingness to fight against everything she's been taught, everything she believes, just to get closer to something that feels real.

I'm not looking for a quick win, not with her. I've spent too many years chasing fleeting moments, empty victories. But with Asa? She's worth more than that. She's worth the fight.

And maybe, just maybe, I'm starting to wonder if I'm falling for her, too.

The thought hits me like a wave — sudden, overwhelming. I wasn't supposed to let it happen. I wasn't supposed to let myself feel. But it's happening. Slowly, steadily, I'm falling for the woman who is everything I'm not, and yet, everything I never knew I needed.

I pick up my phone again, ready to respond, but before I can, the doorbell rings.

I glance at the clock. It's late. Who could it be?

I stand up and walk to the door, opening it, half-expecting another one of my friends, or perhaps one of my regulars from the social circles. But when I open the door, I'm met with the last person I expected to see.

It's Asa.

She stands there, in a perfectly tailored suit, her eyes burning with determination — and something else. Something that scares me.

"Chiquita," she says, her voice low. "I'm here. And I think it's time we stop pretending."

I swallow hard, feeling a strange, electric buzz in the air. This is it. The moment.

But the question is... am I ready?

Am I ready to let her show me what's real?

And more importantly, am I ready to show her what's inside of me?

She's here. And I don't think either of us are leaving until we find out.