Talia Bhatt, Radical Transfeminist and co-writer of RCBG

Vignette #2: Empty Frame

Added 2025-11-10 09:55:36 +0000 UTC

The following takes place between chapters 20 and 21, on the night of the Drag Ball.

The tears stop long enough for her to look.

She sits up in bed, phone in both hands, thumbing through memories. There are lots of him. Him, in his silly peach apron, cooking pancakes with blueberries for her. He knows she doesn’t really like savory breakfast, and he doesn’t really like sugar first thing in the morning but he’s willing to bring her the flatcakes topped with honey and yogurt, before she’s even started getting ready for class.

Another one shows his smile, awkward and goofy and barely showing any teeth, while he turns away from the camera. He was always such a shy boy.

There really aren’t any pictures of them.

Every time she’d get the urge to drape her arm around his shoulders and surprise him with a candid, she’d chicken out. Her hair needed washing. Her teeth weren’t whitened, and maybe she should wait until after the dentist appointment. Or she wasn’t wearing the right thing, clad in short shorts and skintight tees and other things she just didn’t really want to take a couple photo in, really.

So she demurred, and demurred. Tonight was the big night. Not only would she be dressed to the nines—in an actual dress—but she’d also make sure he was spruced up. Dashing and handsome and beaming next to her, arm in arm, while some lucky sod fortunate enough to behold the both of them in their full glory would immortalize the memory she’d craved since she first tasted his tongue.

Boy and girl. Side by side. Clearly in love—or at least, close enough. Outwardly, anyway.

A knock on her door makes her start.

“Mona?” It’s Brad, his voice gentle. “I heard… Everything okay?”

She sniffs loudly, looking up with wet cheeks and a pained smile.

“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m fine. I just…” She looks back down at her phone.

“I just wanted a picture.”