In His Image - 1. Chapter 1

The thought lingers there, like an itch I can’t scratch: marriage. My parents have talked about it often enough—my mom dropping hints about a nice girl at church, my dad always asking when I plan on settling down. And I’ve heard it, too—how being married is supposed to make you whole, how it’s part of the plan, part of the path that God set for me. A woman, a family, that’s what I’m supposed to do.

But then I think about it—really think about it—and the idea repulses me. How can I marry someone when I’m not attracted to them? How can I stand at the altar, say those vows, and know that I’m lying?

I could do it, I suppose. I could go through the motions, live the life everyone expects me to live, but the thought of it feels like a prison. I can’t do that. I can’t pretend to love someone when all I feel inside is confusion, guilt, and this heavy longing that has no place in the world I was raised in.

What kind of man would I be if I took that path? I don’t think I’d be a man at all—just someone pretending, like I’ve been doing for so long. If that’s the cost of living up to expectations, then it’s too high. I won’t pay it.

I’ve never told anyone this, of course. It’s not something you can say without a thousand eyes suddenly on you, judging, condemning, whispering about your place in the world. But it’s not a choice, is it? It’s who I am. Who I’ve always been. And maybe that’s why everything feels like it’s slipping through my fingers. I don’t know how to live with this and be true to myself.

How do I explain what I’m feeling to them? I’ve got time to figure things out. But I feel the weight of my family’s expectations pressing down on me with every passing day. My mother’s soft smile whenever she talks about finding “the right one.” My father’s casual comments about the future, as if it’s already set in stone. They don’t see the confusion swirling in my chest, the gnawing doubts that plague me when I lie in bed at night, staring at the ceiling.

Then there is Chris, one of the analysts on our team. We all work closely together, and everytime I am near him I am a ball of confusion. I’m attracted to him, but I can’t be. It’s wrong.

I catch myself wondering if this attraction I feel toward men will ever go away. Maybe if I just ignore it, pretend it’s not there, it’ll fade. But that doesn’t feel right. I can’t silence it. I can’t shut it down, not when every time Chris smiles at me, my heart skips a beat. It’s like an electric current, something I can’t control.

And there’s the guilt. It’s always there, hanging over me. The whispers in church. The verses I’ve read a hundred times, each one reminding me that this part of me is wrong, unnatural. But what if it’s not? What if this is just who I am?

I want to scream, to ask someone, Is this wrong? Or is it just me? Does God make broken people? Haven’t we been created in His image?

But I keep it inside, where it feels safer. If I never talk about it, maybe no one will ever know. I think about marriage again. The prospect of a family, children, a life built on what my parents taught me... but how could I ever build that life with someone I don’t feel that way about? The thought makes my chest ache, like I’m betraying something fundamental about myself.

It would be easier to just be someone else—someone who fits into the neat little box I was supposed to fit into. Someone who could love a woman and not feel the sharp, unyielding pull to a man like Chris. But that’s not who I am. And the more I try to push it down, the louder it gets, like it’s begging me to face it.

I think about how Chris makes me feel. How he talks—how he listens—like everything I say matters, like I’m important. He’s easy to be around, and that ease... it feels like a lifeline. He’s kind, funny, and sharp. And when he smiles at me, I don’t know what to do with myself.

I can’t pretend that it doesn't stir something in me.

But this, this feeling, it’s not something that fits into the life I’ve been given. Not in the church I go to. Not in the family I love. Not in the world I’ve been raised to believe is right.

How do I navigate this? How do I reconcile who I am with who I’m supposed to be?

The logical part of me says it’s simple. I just stop thinking about it. I just stop feeling this way. But logic never worked when it came to this. It’s like trying to suppress an ocean with a single grain of sand.

And maybe that’s why I’m stuck. Because I’m too scared to move forward, too scared to let anyone see what’s going on inside me.

It’s almost laughable, really. I’ve spent so much time pretending. Pretending I’m okay with the life that’s been laid out for me, pretending I’m on the path I’m supposed to be on. My parents want to see me happy, of course, but happiness for them looks a certain way—marriage, children, faithfulness to God’s word. But how can I walk that path when it feels like it’s suffocating me? How can I pretend that I want the life they dream for me when I don’t even know what that looks like for myself anymore?

The hardest part is accepting that maybe I can’t change. Maybe this is who I am. And if that’s true, what does it mean for everything I’ve believed in? What does it mean for the future my parents envision for me?

I can hear their voices in my head, always with that same hope. “You’ll find the right woman, Ronald. You’re such a good man, and she’ll be lucky to have you.”

I’ve heard those words so many times. They’re meant to comfort me, to push me toward a future that’s already decided. But when I look at them, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not the man they think I am. The man they want me to be.

What if I’m not that man at all?

It’s quiet now, the office emptying out as the clock strikes five. I should leave. I have no real reason to stay, but I find myself lingering, as if some part of me is hoping that Chris will come by, that maybe he’ll say something, or look at me the way he sometimes does, like I’m more than just a colleague to him.

I don’t know why I even think that. It’s ridiculous. I barely know him. We share a few words here and there, a laugh every now and then, but nothing beyond that. He probably doesn’t even notice me the way I notice him.

But I can’t stop the thoughts. The way he leans against the desk when we talk, the warmth in his voice when he asks about my weekend, the way his eyes meet mine just a second longer than necessary when he says goodbye. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m reading too much into it. But maybe, just maybe, there’s something there.

What if he did feel the same way? What if he was as confused as I am, just too scared to say anything? Or, worse, what if I’m completely wrong, and he’s just being friendly, nothing more?

My mind keeps spiraling. This could go on for hours. It always does. I think about what it would be like to take a step toward him, to just say what’s been on my mind. But I can’t. The risk is too great. What if he rejects me? Worse yet, what if he doesn’t even care? What if he turns away and laughs, and I’m left standing there, exposed and humiliated?

The guilt comes back again, wrapping around my chest like a vice. I’ve been taught that men like me—attracted to other men—are wrong. That it’s a sin. That it’s something to hide, something to pray away. How can I reconcile what I feel with everything I’ve been taught? How can I be this person when all I’ve ever known is the image of the man I’m supposed to be?

And yet, as much as I try to push it away, I know deep down that I can't just ignore this anymore. I can’t keep pretending this isn't part of who I am. How much longer can I go on like this, denying myself?

My parents want a good, honest life for me. They want me to be happy. But would they really understand? Could they ever accept this side of me? Could I even tell them?

Chris has become my silent reflection. His presence in the office, the way he seems so effortlessly comfortable in his own skin—how do I even begin to explain the way he makes me feel? How do I explain this ache in my chest when he walks by, how my heart races when he looks at me just a little longer than anyone else?

Maybe I’m asking for too much. Maybe I’m expecting something that isn’t even real. Maybe I’ve made all of this up in my head, a fantasy I’ve clung to because it’s easier than facing the truth about myself.

I catch myself staring out the window, the last rays of sunlight flickering on the horizon. The world outside is busy, but here, inside my mind, everything feels still, like I’m standing on the edge of something I can’t name.

And then, suddenly, I hear footsteps. I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat as I glance toward the door. It’s him—Chris. He’s standing there, smiling, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.

“Heading out soon?” he asks, his voice warm. It’s just a casual question. But to me, it feels like more.

I try to keep my voice steady, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just finishing up some things. How about you?”

He shrugs, stepping closer. “Same. Got some stuff to wrap up.” His eyes flicker to my desk, then back to me. “Hey, we should grab coffee sometime this week. If you’re free, of course.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. It’s nothing—just a casual invitation, I tell myself. But my pulse quickens, and for a moment, I can’t think straight.

“Sure,” I say, before I can stop myself. “I’d like that.”

He smiles, and for a second, the world feels like it’s holding its breath.

“Oh, one more thing,” Chris says, handing me a piece of paper with his address on it. “I’m having a small get-together at my place this weekend. Just moved into a new apartment. I hope you can make it. It starts around 7 p.m.”

He’s gone before I can even respond, back to his desk, leaving me staring after him, my heart hammering in my chest.

Friday night arrives, and there I am, driving to Chris’s place. I park my car and walk up to the building, my steps hesitant. I press the buzzer, announce myself, and the door clicks open. I take the stairs slowly, noticing the faint echo of my footsteps as I make my way up to his apartment.

The hallway is narrow, with walls that are freshly painted a warm, neutral tone. The faint smell of fresh wood fills the air, and as I pass the other doors, I hear muffled laughter and the distant sound of music, the energy of a small party already in motion.

When I reach his door, I lift my hand to knock, but before I can, it swings open effortlessly, like it was waiting for me. Chris stands in the doorway, looking effortlessly handsome, his smile wide, his laugh contagious.

“Glad you made it, Ron. Let me introduce you to everyone,” he says, stepping aside to let me in.

He introduces me to his friends, and just like that, I’m part of his circle. I didn’t expect it to feel this easy, but somehow, it does.

The housewarming party was small, just a handful of people, but the air felt lighter here, different from the weight of uncertainty that followed me around every day. Chris had just moved into his new place, a cozy two-bedroom apartment in the heart of the city, and his friends had come to help him settle in. I had barely spoken to anyone outside of Chris—small talk, the kind you make when you don’t know anyone well enough—but it was easy enough to laugh along, nodding and trying to fit in.

I brought Chris a gift—nothing extravagant, just a potted plant. It was a small gesture, something I’d picked out at the farmer’s market held at the church earlier in the week, and it felt strangely fitting. A living thing, something to nurture.

I was enjoying myself, more than I thought I would. I felt at ease in his space, surrounded by Chris’s friends, all of us comfortably spread out across the living room. The music was low, and Chris’s laughter was the loudest sound in the room, easy and free, the kind of laugh that made you want to laugh with him.

As the evening went on, the party was slowly winding down, the last of Chris’s friends chatting in the corner. Chris, though, is everywhere. He moves from one group to the next, like he’s the center of gravity, making everything look effortless.

I watch him as he flirts with a couple of the women who’d shown up—his charm is undeniable. He’s at ease, making them laugh with some joke I didn’t catch, his smile wide, eyes twinkling like he’s playing a game he’s mastered. He’s got that effortless thing down, something I could never replicate.

One woman, dark-haired and wearing a red dress, laughs and touches his arm. He looks down at her and smiles, leaning in like they’re sharing a secret. It’s like he’s been doing this his whole life—navigating conversations, hitting the right notes, making everyone feel like they’re the most important person in the room.

And then it happens.

He takes her hand, raising it slowly to his lips. The way he holds her fingers, the look in his eyes, it’s intimate. He kisses her hand gently, like it’s some sort of romantic gesture from an old movie. One of the other girls, a blonde with big eyes, laughs, a soft giggle that feels almost rehearsed.

The moment drags on, and I’m frozen. I want to look away, but I can’t. There’s something about the way Chris moves, how comfortable he is, how natural it all seems, that throws me off balance.

Is this what people do? I wonder. Is this normal?

Part of me feels like I’m intruding on something private. It’s like I’m seeing Chris in a light that doesn’t match the image I’ve created of him. I know he’s charming—he’s always been that way—but I didn’t realize how effortless it was for him. He’s not nervous at all. He’s confident. I can’t help but feel small next to that.

But here’s the thing: I don’t know how to make sense of it. He’s so natural with her, so... flirtatious. It’s a side of him I haven’t seen before, and it throws me off.

I feel something tighten in my chest, something unfamiliar and sharp. Doubt. Confusion. Sadness knowing he won’t have the same feelings for me. I watch as Chris flirts with a woman, his smile easy, his charm effortless. He kissed her hand with such grace, as if it’s something he’s done a thousand times, and I feel my heart sink. It’s like I’ve been holding my breath, waiting for something, and in this moment, it all deflates. He’s not interested in me—not in the way I am in him.

But I’m taking this all out of context. I know that. Still, the knot in my chest only tightens. I want to look away, to stop imagining what it would be like to be the one in his arms. But I can’t. I’m stuck, watching him, seeing something I don’t want to see.

Maybe I’ve been imagining things. Maybe I’ve been projecting my feelings onto him when he’s just... being himself. Maybe I’ve been fooling myself all along.

I shake the thought off, trying to focus on something else—anything else—but all I can think about is how easy it is for Chris to be this way. How easy it is for him to make everyone around him feel like they’re the center of his world.

But what if I’m just another person in that orbit, another friend? What if all the moments I thought were special were nothing more than him being Chris? Charming. Easygoing. The kind of guy who doesn’t seem to care who he flirts with or who he kisses on the hand.

But as the evening wore on, people started leaving. One by one, they trickled out, leaving only the soft hum of the apartment’s old fridge and the fading buzz of the last song still playing on the stereo.

It was around the time the last of his friends said their goodbyes when I started thinking about heading out. I was getting ready to go, to leave before any more awkward moments could unfold.

Before I could leave, Chris called out and told me to wait for a minute. I don’t know why I did, but I sat back down, unsure of what he wanted.

As he walked out of the kitchen—confident, standing tall, smiling—his last friend left, and the air seemed to shift. I couldn’t put my finger on it—something was different about him. It felt like an invitation, one I wasn’t sure I was ready for. He gestured for me to wait, then disappeared back into the kitchen.

My chest tightened, and my mind raced. What was he really asking? Maybe he was just being polite, a good host. But everything felt more complicated now, and the way he’d looked at me earlier—the moments that lingered just a little too long—kept replaying in my mind.

Unsure of myself, I grabbed my jacket and walked to the door. What else was I supposed to do? It felt wrong just sitting there.

Chris walked out of the kitchen with two glasses of wine. He set them on the table, then came over to where I stood, ready to leave.

He took my jacket and hung it on the hook by the door, then led me into the living room and to the couch.

I followed, my stomach in knots. We settled on the couch, the space between us charged with something new. He sat there, mere inches away. The music had stopped, leaving the apartment eerily quiet—the kind of silence that could suffocate if you let it.

Chris looked at me, his smile fading into something more serious, unreadable. I shifted on the couch, unsure of what to say, how to act. My heart pounded. All I could focus on was the weight of his gaze on mine. He reached for the wine, and before I even realized it, my body moved on its own. I leaned in, my lips meeting his in a kiss that was sudden and overwhelming. The moment was sharp, electric. For a brief second, I didn’t care about anything else. It had only lasted for seconds.

But then reality crashed back in. I pulled away, immediately regretting it. My heart raced—not from desire, but from something else.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out, standing quickly. “I didn’t mean— I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what—”

But he didn’t let me finish. Before I could run, before I could retreat into the embarrassment and confusion threatening to swallow me whole, he reached out and grabbed my hand.

He didn’t say anything. His thumb brushed over my trembling fingers.

I felt the heat of my cheeks flush, my mind spinning a thousand miles a minute. I stood up, wanting to leave, but Chris gently tugged me back to the couch. I sat, the room feeling impossibly small as I struggled to process what had just happened. I could have pulled away and run out the door, taking my embarrassment and shame with me, but instead, I sat down.

What was I doing? This was wrong. I shouldn’t be doing this. This wasn’t what I was taught—this was temptation. But I couldn’t stop myself.

“You’re nervous, I understand,” Chris said quietly, his voice calm in contrast to the hurricane of thoughts in my head. He gave me a knowing look, one that made me feel safe, yet vulnerable and exposed.

I nodded, unable to say anything. I realized I was shaking, my palms clammy, my heart still hammering. The color drained from my face. I wanted to run. To hide. What had I done? I wanted to explain myself, but instead, he squeezed my hand gently. I just sat there, staring into those hazel eyes. For a moment, there was no pressure, no weight. Just the simple act of sitting there with him, the tension ebbing away.

Then, Chris leaned in slowly, his breath warm against my face, and kissed me.

This time, it wasn’t rushed or impulsive. It was soft, tender, like he was waiting for me to meet him halfway. And I did. I leaned into it, letting go of the fear, the doubt, and the years of pretending.

As he held me in his arms, the warmth of his body pressed against mine, and for the first time, I felt like I wasn’t alone. The kiss deepened, slow and tender, each movement a new sensation. His arms around me felt steady, comforting, but there was something more—something that made my pulse race and my breath catch.

I’d never felt anything like this before—never been held so close, never been kissed like this. Every nerve in my body seemed to hum with a strange mix of desire and hesitation, as though I didn’t quite know how to be in this moment, but I didn’t want it to end. The softness of his lips against mine, the gentle pressure of his hands, it all felt so different from anything I’d ever known. So much more than I’d ever imagined.

I couldn’t pull away even if I wanted to. His touch was everything I’d never allowed myself to feel—tender, yet filled with a depth I didn’t know was possible. I felt small in his embrace, not weak, but like I was being cared for in a way that felt... safe. Real. I didn’t have the words for it, but I knew that I was finally somewhere I’d never been before, and it felt... right.