Chapter 5 Building in the open

Chapter Five: Building in the Open

Spring in Amsterdam came slowly, as though the city wasn't quite ready to let go of its cold. The canals thawed, the wind softened, and the days began to stretch their light further into the evening. Esi found herself shedding more than just winter layers-she was unlearning years of invisibility, and it felt both terrifying and strangely natural. Each morning, she woke in Kemi's bed, wrapped in limbs and soft silence. The walls were still covered in paintings-Kemi's mind spilled onto canvas, vibrant and chaotic-but Esi had started to see herself in them now. Not just her shape, but her presence. Her boldness. Her becoming. They began to create rituals. Sunday markets for fresh bread and wild tulips. Afternoons in the gallery where Kemi volunteered. Friday dinners cooked to the sounds of old Ghanaian highlife, the music of a place they still carried, even if it hadn't carried them back. One quiet afternoon, Esi sat across from Kemi in the kitchen, the table between them littered with receipts, immigration paperwork, and a near-empty bottle of wine. "I finally have my interview date," Esi said. "For the residency permit." Kemi grinned. "You nervous?" "A little." She paused. "A lot." "You'll be fine." Esi reached for Kemi's hand. "You know this doesn't feel real sometimes. Like I'll wake up and be back in Accra, in my old flat, pretending again." Kemi squeezed her fingers. "It's real. You're here. And you're staying." "I want to," Esi said. "But sometimes I don't know who I'm becoming. I used to think I was defined by what I didn't say. Now that I've started speaking, I don't know where the voice ends." Kemi tilted her head. "That just means you're growing. Becoming someone you've never had the safety to imagine before." Esi looked down at the papers. "I'm scared I'll mess it up." "You won't." Kemi leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair from Esi's face. "You're not alone anymore." It was a simple truth, but one Esi had never fully let herself believe. Not until now. The weeks passed, and Esi found work translating documents for a small NGO that supported African asylum seekers. The job was part-time and modestly paid, but it gave her a purpose-and a glimpse of others walking the same thin line between who they were and who the world let them be. One day, a young Nigerian woman named Tolu came into the office, eyes wide with fear, clutching a folder of legal documents with trembling hands. She barely spoke above a whisper, and when Esi gently offered her water, she flinched. Later, as they sat in the meeting room, Tolu finally said, "I told them I was gay. They said if I went back, my uncle would... would do things." Esi swallowed hard. "You're safe here." Tolu looked at her like she wanted to believe it. "You say that so easily." "I didn't, once." Esi saw her reflection in Tolu's fear-the girl who had once avoided mirrors, avoided truth, avoided touch. She wanted to reach across the table and say, It gets better. But she knew better than to offer false hope. Instead, she said, "I'm still figuring it out, too. But you're not alone anymore." The same words Kemi had once given her. And now they were hers to give. That night, she told Kemi about the meeting. "She reminded me of myself," Esi said. "Not the person I am now. But the one I used to be. And maybe, still am sometimes." Kemi nodded. "You're allowed to carry the past. You just don't have to live in it anymore." They sat curled up on the couch, the night pressing softly against the windows. "I think I want to stay," Esi said suddenly. Kemi looked over. "Stay?" "Not just in Amsterdam. I mean here-with you. I don't want to just survive anymore. I want a life. Our life." Kemi's eyes softened. "We've been building it. Bit by bit." "I know. But I want to say it out loud." Kemi leaned in, their foreheads touching. "Then say it." Esi took a breath. "I love you. I'm choosing this. Us. Every day." Kemi smiled. "I love you too. And tomorrow, we'll get up and keep choosing it." Outside, the city glowed with the quiet hush of spring. Inside, two women held each other, not as fugitives of love but as architects of a future they were no longer afraid to build.