ADRIAN WAS THREE years post-divorce from his first wife when he met Dawn.
She was everything he had ever imagined in a woman: tall and willowy, with jet-black hair that tumbled down her back like a silken waterfall. She carried herself with grace and quiet confidence—a real Asian beauty who seemed to float more than walk.
As a flight attendant who primarily worked domestic routes or short hops across Southeast Asia to Singapore, Hong Kong or Manila, Dawn was frequently away for a night or two at a time. This rhythm became the quiet foundation of their relationship—a pattern that suited them both. It allowed for intimacy without suffocation, togetherness without constant overlap. They shared lazy mornings and late dinners, quick getaways on her days off, and quiet weekends enjoying each other’s presence.
And then, for a few nights each week, Adrian had time and the apartment to himself—a coveted space to breathe, reflect and recharge.
It was, in many ways, the perfect arrangement.
Adrian had fallen hard and fast. From the moment he met Dawn, something in her lit up the parts of him he’d kept dormant for far too long. Yes, she was stunning—a natural, effortless beauty with the kind of self-possession that turned heads without her trying.
But it was more than that. She was kind, thoughtful, and curious about the world in a way that made Adrian want to be better. Unlike his first wife, whose rigid expectations and narrow views had left little room for anything outside the conventional, Dawn was more open-minded and emotionally generous.
He found himself eager to please her, craving not just her affection but her approval. He began shaping his own business travels around Asia to match her schedule, work his life around their shared routines—cooking meals she liked, surprising her with little gifts from places he’d been, planning their weekends in advance so that her limited time off was well spent. In many ways, he saw her as the anchor he’d always wanted: someone stable yet exciting, grounded yet adventurous. She brought out the parts of him that were calm, considerate, reliable—qualities that had felt like afterthoughts during the chaos and disappointment of his previous marriage.
But beneath all the domestic harmony and deepening affection, something else quietly lingered. The very space that allowed their relationship to breathe—the nights spent alone—also became fertile ground for something Adrian had tried to forget. Something he’d buried beneath layers of compromise and routine.
Adrienne.
And though she hadn’t appeared fully in years, the silence of an empty home and the growing sense of safety began to loosen her from hiding.
This was a secret he had never managed to fully shake; a deeply ingrained secret that had nestled in his psyche for as long as he could remember; even though it wasn’t something that, at first, he could identify or put into words. It was just there; a nagging, intangible, shapeless secret that took time to take on a form.
But, take on a form it did and, from such time, it never left Adrian alone. Not always to the forefront of his mind, but enough to make him always aware that he was not quite like other boys; he was different in a very special way.
As he had grown older, the secret had taken on more layers, evolving from an unspoken feeling into a lived reality. It wasn’t just about imagining life as someone else—it was about stepping into a truth that he couldn’t ignore. And while it brought a deep sense of internal affirmation, it also carried with it an undercurrent of fear, guilt and shame. It was exhilarating and worrying in equal measures.
The secret shaped how he saw the world. It allowed him to understand people better, especially those who felt on the outside of things; minorities or other marginalised people. He listened more closely, empathised more deeply, and grew into someone perceptive and emotionally intelligent in a more feminine way. In that way, his hidden self became a quiet strength—something that gave him insight beyond his years.
But it wasn’t always easy.
Living with a truth so fundamental yet hidden meant learning to go through life almost as if using a dual lens. There were risks—emotional, social, sometimes even physical. He took chances that in hindsight seemed reckless: sneaking into his sister’s wardrobe, buying makeup at shops where he hoped no one would know him; and later walking streets at dusk in a dress, or skirt and top and heels. These weren’t just expressions of curiosity—they were necessities, acts of survival and self-affirmation. And sometimes, they felt beyond his control.
He knew it wasn’t a compulsion. It wasn’t about thrill-seeking. It was a core need, something woven into the very fabric of who he was. Adrienne, the name he’d given to his alter ego, wasn’t a disguise. She was a truth, one that demanded to be lived. And no matter how far Adrian tried to push her away, she always found her way back—persistent, patient, and unable to be denied.
