"You know, I should have seen it sooner." I tell her as we walk down the morning-lit street.

"Seen what?"

"That you're bi."

"Why's that?" She asks purely, her voice like music. I look pointedly at her short sleeve striped button down tucked into cuffed high waisted jeans and red converse. She even has the haircut.

"No reason" I smile as she looks down at her outfit and laughs. I grab her hand.

She squeezes mine. Butterflies erupt in my stomach.

"I'm not even sure if I'm bisexual." She says, shrugging. Seeing my expression she adds, "I mean, I know I like women I just don't know if bisexual is the right label yet. Maybe pan or demi, but I'm not sure."

"I get that. I thought I was bicurious for a while until I realized I was actually a lesbian. It can take a while to tell if what you're feeling is compulsive heteronormativity (I think that's the right term), and what's actual attraction. And then there's all the micro labels that can fit you so perfectly but there's so much gatekeeping within the community that that just feels... bad, I guess."

"Yeah." The sun is fresh in the sky and tired people walk to and from the many cafes and boutiques decorating the elegant road. Baskets of flowers hang from streetlights. "I just wish it wasn't all so confusing." I squeeze her hand.

"Me too."

I wanted to ask her, but I couldn't. She has been my best friend for years, so it should have been easy. I should have just said, "Look, I need to know. Do you actually like me? As more than a friend? Or is this just because you've never been with a girl?" That's what I should have said. I have spent a while imagining her response. She would grab my face and pull me to her's, and whisper, "I love you as more than a friend."

And that would be enough.