Athena
The temperature has dropped and I shiver as I sit on one of Ruby’s sun loungers with a cappuccino, wrapped in one of her toweling robes. Ruby sits cross-legged on the adjacent lounger, wearing an oversize sweatshirt, her wet hair darkening the fabric where it touches her shoulders.
Her eyes hold mine, patient but expectant. I owe her this story, though every fiber of my being wants to deflect, to change the subject, to maintain the distance I’ve cultivated. But she’s shared so much of herself with me. Perhaps it’s time to open up in return.
“I studied international business in London,” I begin, the words feeling strange in my mouth.
I haven’t spoken about this in years. “I could have gone anywhere—my father’s influence opened doors worldwide.
But I chose London because of what it represented.
Freedom.” I pause, watching the play of moonlight on the water.
“The kind of freedom I couldn’t find in Greece. ”
Ruby shifts, drawing her knees to her chest. “Freedom to be yourself?”
“Yes.” I twist one of my gold bangles. “In Athens, I was Alexandros Stavros’s daughter, heir to one of the largest shipping empires in the Mediterranean.
Being gay wasn’t—still isn’t—entirely accepted in those circles.
I had this wild vision of what London would be like—clubs, dating, dancing until dawn, and finally being able to live openly without looking over my shoulder.
” A smile tugs at my lips. “None of that happened, though. Because during my first week at university, I met Elena.”
It feels strange to say her name out loud, but I continue. “She was Greek too—studying international finance. The moment I saw her, everything else faded away. She had this way of moving, like she was dancing to music only she could hear. But whenever I tried to get close, she’d pull away.”
“Playing hard to get?” Ruby asks.
“That’s what I thought at first. We’d go on dates, but she never let it progress beyond the restaurant. She was…guarded. Secretive about herself. Canceled on me regularly. I was used to getting what I wanted, so her resistance only made me more determined.”
Ruby makes a soft sound. “Tell me about it.”
“Yes, I suppose you’ve experienced that side of me firsthand.
” I meet her eyes briefly before looking away.
“Eventually, though, things happened. She started coming home with me and feelings grew between us. After a few months, I asked her to move in with me. That’s when she finally told me the truth. ”
My throat tightens and the lounger creaks as I shift, trying to find comfort in a story that offers none.
“Elena had systemic scleroderma—an autoimmune disease that was slowly hardening her tissues and organs. She’d been diagnosed two years before we met.
The doctors gave her maybe five years. The only reason she studied was because she wanted the last years of her life to be normal and, like me, free. ”
Ruby brings a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Athena…”
“She told me we could never have a life together. We had no future.” I stare at my hands, remembering how they felt wrapped around Elena’s increasingly frail ones.
“But I insisted. I loved her. And somewhere deep inside, I held onto this foolish hope that there would be a miracle. Some experimental treatment, some breakthrough that would save her.”
Needing a moment, I blow on my coffee and take a careful sip. Ruby doesn’t push, doesn’t try to fill the silence with empty comfort. She just waits, giving me space to find my way back to the story.
“Still, I had these visions of our future,” I continue.
“The house we’d buy, the life we’d build.
Even while I watched her body betray her, I kept planning.
As if my determination alone could change what was happening.
But you can’t fight time. You can’t negotiate with fate.
No amount of money or influence could change what was coming. ”
I sit in silence for a while; I don’t know how long. I’ve never told anyone but my therapist this story in full. Yet here I am, spilling my past to Ruby.
“You know the worst part?” I whisper. “The hope. It’s cruel, how it lingers even when you know better.
Every good day felt like a sign that maybe the doctors were wrong.
Every time she smiled, every moment she seemed stronger, I’d think, ‘This is it. This is the turning point.’ But there was no turning point.
Just a slow, relentless progression toward the inevitable. ”
I pause again, wrestling with memories I’ve kept locked away for so long. Ruby reaches across the space between us and takes my hand. Her touch anchors me, gives me strength. Perhaps this is why I feel drawn to her—she understands the specific weight of losing someone you love so much.
“Elena wasn’t out to her family either,” I say.
“We were both living this double life—the perfect Greek daughters to our families back home, different women entirely in London.” My coffee has gone cold now, but I take a sip anyway, needing something to do.
“During our final year in university, she went home to Greece for what was supposed to be a short trip. Then she stopped answering her phone.”
Ruby’s fingers tighten around mine, keeping me tethered to the present as I navigate through these painful memories.
“I was worried sick. Elena had been getting weaker, but she insisted she was well enough to travel. After a week of silence, I managed to track down her parents’ number.
” My throat constricts around the words.
“That’s when I learned she had passed away five days earlier.
Just like that. No warning, no goodbye. Her parents had no idea who I was—just a concerned friend calling to check on their daughter.
They didn’t know about us, about how much we meant to each other.
“I missed her funeral,” I continue, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “Can you imagine? The love of my life was buried, and I wasn’t there.”
Ruby shifts closer, and I realize I’m crying.
“The cruelest part was when a team of professional movers came to our flat in London to collect Elena’s belongings.
Her things were everywhere—half-empty teacups, books with corners folded down, a shopping list on the fridge in her handwriting.
She’d left expecting to come back.” I close my eyes, remembering.
“Her sweater was still draped over the back of a chair, like she’d just stepped out for a moment.
But she was gone, really gone, and I had no one to share the burden of that grief. ”
Ruby moves to my lounger and wraps her arms around me. I lean into her embrace, letting down my guard completely for the first time in years. Tears fall silently as she holds me, and I cling to her.
We sit like that for a long moment, my tears gradually subsiding as she strokes my hair. The intimacy of the gesture should unnerve me, but instead it’s comforting.
“Thank you for sharing this with me,” Ruby whispers against my hair. “I get you now. I understand.”
I know she does. Ruby understands not just my words but the spaces between them, the grief that shaped me. In her eyes, I see not pity but recognition—that quiet knowledge that comes only from walking the same broken path.
“I learned something from losing her,” I say. “I learned that losing love—real, deep love—it breaks you. So I’ve avoided relationships since. The club lets me control everything, keep my affairs surface-level, and I steer well away from emotions.”
“And how’s that working out for you?”
I don’t answer. I let myself be held, let myself be vulnerable. It feels like the bravest thing I’ve ever done.