Where apparently they'd decided I was inadequate.
The scent of their coupling hung heavy in the air—musk and sweat and the unmistakable smell of sex that I'd never experienced but somehow recognized on a primal level. Itinvaded my nostrils, a physical reminder that they'd been intimate in ways I'd only dreamed about with him.
"Maya, honey," Sarah said, wrapping the sheet around herself like she was getting dressed after a perfectly normal evening. Her lips were swollen from kissing, her skin still flushed with satisfaction. She looked beautiful, glowing, utterly confident in her nakedness while I stood fully clothed and somehow felt more exposed than she did.
"You have to understand—David needs someone with more experience. Someone who can match his needs." Her hand gestured vaguely toward the rumpled bed, toward evidence of exactly what kind of needs she meant. "You're still so young, so... innocent."
The way she said innocent made it sound like a disease. Like something shameful that needed to be cured.
"Get out," David had interrupted, not even looking at me as he buttoned his shirt. "We'll talk about this later when you're calmer."
Later. As if I was having some kind of hysterical episode instead of discovering the two people I trusted most in the world naked together.
"David, please," I'd started to say, but he'd already walked past me toward the bathroom, dismissing me like I was a child having a tantrum.
That's when Sarah had gotten out of bed, wrapping the sheet around herself like a toga, and approached me with the same expression she'd worn when explaining why I couldn't come to faculty parties as a teenager.
"Maya, honey, you're not ready for this kind of relationship. David is a senior graduate student. He needs someone who can understand the pressures he's under, someone who can support his career in ways you just don't have the experience for yet."
"I love him," I'd whispered, the words barely audible.
"You think you do," she'd corrected gently. "But what you love is the idea of him. The fantasy of being with someone accomplished and intellectual. That's not the same thing as the kind of mature relationship David needs."
Mature. As if my feelings were childish, insignificant, something I'd grow out of like a phase.
"He said he loved me," I'd protested, desperately clinging to the words he'd whispered during stolen moments in the lab, during coffee dates where he'd praised my research insights.
"Oh, sweetie." Sarah's voice had been so gentle, so full of pity that it cut deeper than anger would have. "David appreciates your intelligence, but he needs someone who can challenge him intellectually, not just admire him. Someone who understands the world he's trying to build for himself."
Someone like her. Someone beautiful and accomplished and confident in ways I'd never be.
"I thought—" I'd started, but couldn't finish. Thought he chose me for my mind. Thought my research was valuable enough to make up for my inexperience. Thought someone could want me for myself instead of seeing me as a stepping stone to my sister.
"I know what you thought," Sarah had said softly. "And I'm sorry. We both are. But David and I... we have something real. Something mature. I hope you can understand that someday."
Something real. Unlike whatever I'd thought we had, which was apparently just fantasy and delusion.
I'd stumbled backward out of that apartment, leaving behind the broken wine bottle and the last remnants of my naive belief that someone might want me enough to choose me over Sarah. I'd run back to my dormitory room and spent the night crying into my pillow, trying to understand what I'd done wrong. Trying to figure out how I could have misunderstood so completely.
The next week, David had tried to talk to me in the lab. Had explained, with the patience of someone speaking to a child, that what happened was inevitable. That he and Sarah were better suited, more intellectually compatible. That I should focus on my studies instead of relationships I wasn't ready for.
"You're brilliant, Maya," he'd said, as if that was supposed to comfort me. "But you're not experienced enough for the kind of relationship I need. Maybe in a few years, when you've matured more, when you've had time to develop your confidence..."
When I've had time to become more like Sarah, he meant. More sophisticated, more worldly, more everything I wasn't.
The worst part was that I'd believed him. Had accepted that my inexperience made me inadequate, that my virginity was a flaw rather than a choice. Had internalized the message that I wasn't woman enough to keep a man's attention when someone better was available.
I'd thrown myself into my research after that, using work as a shield against the vulnerability of dating. Better to be alone than to risk another devastating discovery that I was just a placeholder until someone more suitable came along. Better to focus on plants, which don't lie or betray or leave you for your sister.
But the damage was done. Every time a man showed interest, I heard David's voice explaining why I wasn't ready, wasn't experienced enough, wasn't mature enough for a real relationship. Every invitation to coffee or dinner felt like a prelude to inevitable disappointment when they realized how inexperienced I was.
So I'd stayed a virgin, not out of moral conviction but out of fear. Fear that anyone I gave myself to would find me lacking compared to someone with more experience, more confidence, more of whatever it was that made Sarah irresistible to men who'd claimed to care about me.
The virginity that had started as a choice became armor, then prison. Protection from being found inadequate, but proof that I wasn't woman enough to be chosen first by anyone who mattered.
And now Sarah wants to help my career again. Wants to connect me with people who supposedly value my research, my expertise, my specific talents.
I open my eyes and stare at the invitation sitting on my desk. Elegant paper, expensive ink, offering recognition from people who know my name and want my expertise. Everything I've dreamed of since that night in David's apartment, when I decided that if I couldn't be loved, I'd settle for being brilliant enough to matter.
