Anya - By Sharon Fen

Written By: Sharon Fen

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Sharon Fen, writing under the name Ivy, brings to life a compelling narrative titled "Anya" in the Short Story category. As part of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar, this story invites readers into a world of intimate emotions and unspoken connections. In a setting where societal expectations clash with personal desires, Sharon expertly explores the complexities of love and friendship. Through the characters of Anya and Octavia, readers are drawn into a delicate dance of emotions and the pursuit of self-discovery.

About the Work

"Anya" beautifully captures the essence of longing and the tentative steps towards understanding one's emotions. The narrative is rich with imagery and emotional depth as it explores the unspoken bond between two women. Sharon Fen's literary style is both evocative and introspective, allowing readers to immerse themselves in the protagonists' internal conflicts and desires. The story's mood shifts from hopeful anticipation to tender realization, leaving a lasting impact on the reader.

ivy

Original Submission by Sharon Fen

Anya

She had a lovely conversation with Octavia that day. It was at Margaret’s birthday party. A big fuss, that is. The both of them wanted to get out of the party, away from the people, but they stuck together. She snuck a piece of chocolate to Octavia below the table, where their legs almost touched, so that nobody would see. With clear consciousness, she knew she would have kissed her, if not for the crowd. She would have, a long time ago.

But she didn’t know what Octavia thought, whether she felt the same for her or not. It had always seemed obvious for everyone else that they were of the same kind. They had always spent their time together, practically living under the same roof. It was only in between them where the words were left unsaid.

Then came George, out of the blue. He took Octavia by the hand and asked if she fancied a dance.

No, fuck off. Anya thought, Fuck off. She’s my girl.

But Octavia gave him her classic polite smile and went along with him. Before she left, Octavia squeezed Anya’s hand gently, “I’ll be back before you notice. Have some fun yourself.” Her whisper lingered in the air, followed by the trait of her scent. She used the perfume Anya had bought for her, Anya knew for sure. She had always loved that scent on her. It felt like sunshine, and grass, and a sense of security.

And then, that sense of security was gone.

She hid in the corner and waited for hours and hours. Normally, when Octavia wasn’t around, she could bear the loneliness, playing the piano by herself, but then, she wouldn’t risk making a fuss and suddenly drawing a crowd, no, she had enough trouble to worry about already.

She would have gone to the ballroom, just to steal a glance at Octavia, but, then again, why on earth would she do that to herself? Imagining her hands in George’s was enough torture already. God, she hoped he did not touch her waist.

Polite as she was, Octavia never fancied physical contact. She would only ever touch Anya, but only on very few occasions. Secretly, Anya always blamed that as the reason why they had never kissed before. Or had sex.

On the other hand, Anya belonged to the group of people who are extremely clingy. She loved to rest her head on Octavia’s shoulder. And she never walked alongside Octavia without their arms locked together. She loved to touch Octavia’s hand at night, when they had the chance to sleep together. She had always thought that Octavia never knew, that she was unconscious, asleep. But once, when she was so sure that Octavia was no longer awake, she went and searched for her hand. That was when Octavia requested her not to do so anymore. Anya never dared to make another attempt.

The next day, the both of them were going horse-riding. Just the two of them. Anya had hoped for something to happen, that this would finally be the chance when they both opened up and confessed their feelings to each other.

About time, she told herself, time and time again.

Ironically, they had long passed the perfect timing to utter the words “I love you,” yet at times it still seemed way too early.

Octavia

Octavia had no idea how she felt about Anya, nor the other way around. Obviously, she did not want to leave when George asked her to dance, and the disappointment on Anya’s face was ever more evident. But no, still she did not know for sure if that was what constituted love.

She wondered how two women would know if they were in love, or two people, to be general. Her whole life, she had been educated of a love that included a man and a woman, of passion and restrained emotions. But it was like watching someone else painting your own picture for you, handing over your brushes at the mercy of others. This bloody predetermination only made her sick.

Even a blind person could tell that George was pursuing her. Anya was always agitated by this matter, but Octavia was not hasty in turning him down. She, too, was intrigued to see, to understand, what she truly felt towards him. Or anyone else at all. So she spent a considerable amount of time with him, doing whatever activity they saw fit. Reading, talking, and of course, that dance at the party. To everyone else, they had basically formed a couple, at least that was what their parents wanted. Nevertheless, Octavia couldn’t help but notice that, the whole time, it was Anya whom she hoped to be by her side, touching her hand, feeling her waist. She would like to do the same to her as well, lifting her to the sky and whispering into her ear saying that she looked gorgeous. As she always had. She would like to do everything with her.

Anya

She couldn’t fall asleep the previous night. How stupid of her. One ought not to get on a horse back without having enough rest the night before, as Octavia had reminded her time and again. Nevertheless, Anya felt restless, for whatever that could happen, as well for whatever that might not occur.

Things had always been clear for Anya. She knew Octavia would constitute an important part of her life the moment she laid eyes on her. The idea of romance came to her a little later, yet barely made a difference.

On the other hand, however, Octavia had never demonstrated her feelings likewise to her. Anya wasn’t even sure if she truly knew for herself. Intimate as they were, there still existed gaps in between their mutual understanding of one another, as well in their all-too-transparent communication.

Despite her wariness, Anya put on her black-leather boots and grabbed her coat while storming outside with a pounding heart. Although the both of them had been on numerous rides before, Anya couldn’t help but feel as if this one, unlike before, was going to end up being something different.

“Where do you think you're going?” Aunt Natasha’s voice came from downstairs.

Without stopping, Anya spins her body around, seeing her aunt seated at the entrance of the kitchen.

“I’m going on a ride with Octavia this afternoon. I’ll be home before dinner.” Answered Anya in a light tone.

After a moment of silence, Aunt Natasha whirled up a grin across her cheeks, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Anya froze. Whatever was that supposed to mean? She looked into the depth of Aunt Natasha’s verdant eyes, understanding that this woman saw, in fact, more than she implied.

“Whatever you’re thinking of right now, contemplate on it. Now go have fun. Be back home before your mother does.” With that, Aunt Natasha delivered a mysterious smile, making the difficulty even greater for Anya to figure out the meaning in between the lines. “Also, if you would be kind enough, would you please pick up some coriander and chamomiles for me on your way back? I would love to visit your uncle tomorrow. Thank you very much for the inconvenience.”

Widowed at the age of 35, Aunt Natasha never remarried. Nor did she actively share her wealth with anyone, not even with family. Regardless, nothing of that kind eliminated nor diminished her kindness and her generosity. Fortunately, Anya got to spend most summers of her childhood with this role model, who had a magnificent influence on her, mostly in being a woman.

Heading towards the west, Anya walked to Octavia’s family stable, which was merely less than a mile away. As luck would have it, throughout the year, both girls spent their summers with their distant families in the countryside as neighbors, while in the rest of the year they lived in the city together with their parents.

“Hey there.” greeted Anya with noticeable nervousness, biting the inside of her chin. Octavia barely glimpsed at her before throwing an enormous basket into her arms. “Pack these on the horses. We’re going on a picnic today.” With that, she disappeared back into the hallway.

“Okay.” Anya sighed.

So much for a special occasion.

Everyone around them regarded them as sisters, for they barely left each other’s side. Staying over at the other’s house was all but a common deal. Sometimes, Anya felt as if her own mother preferred Octavia over herself. To be honest, though, who wouldn’t?

Having reached the staple, Anya carefully loaded the basket on the horses. To her, the horses were basically family as well. Thanks to Octavia, Anya was able to learn horse-riding at an early age, but it was Octavia who was truly gifted in this particular activity. Just like her mother, Octavia was born to perform well on the horse back. It was like a natural gesture, as if she knew the secret language of the horses, how to communicate with them, and how to act around them, something Anya deeply appreciated, but could never get her hands around it as elegantly.

Beforehand, Anya found a bottle of red wine in the picnic basket, along with some bread, cheese, and grapes. Then it was indeed a special occasion, after all. Anya wondered if Octavia stole this bottle from the wine cellar, or if her father put it in without her knowledge.

“How do you fancy the riverside?” Asked Octavia, entering the stable and jumping on her steed.

“Well, I do look forward to some swimming.” Blushed Anya, hoping the shades indoors would help Octavia shift her gaze elsewhere.

“I am not going into the waters with you.” Teased Octavia with a gentle laugh, “I’ll race you to the woods.”

In spite of the challenge, Anya knew Octavia was keeping her pace slow for the sole purpose of waiting for her, unlike her style on the tracks. Anya admired how she never felt the need to prove herself to anyone, especially not to her.

Of course, Anya was running second to their old spot beside the river. Somehow this was the place where they did not have to be concerned about someone else disturbing them, for they were the only ones who seemed to have discovered the sacred corner. Here, they got to witness sunrises and sunsets, the movements of the clouds and the splashing of the waterfall all on their own.

The girls took out the food they had prepared for themselves and settled down. A proper picnic, that is. Anya was curious to know if this could be considered as a date, if everything they had gone through together would be seen as the same, had they been the combination of a boy and a girl. The true question was, would that have made a difference in Octavia’s mind?

Octavia poured a glass of wine for Anya. Judging from her calmness and lack of surprise, she must have been the one who prepared for this. She leaned in and wiped Anya’s lips, probably stained with food. This gesture had Anya skip a heartbeat. She tried to blink off the confusion, then looked away as if it was no big deal. Putting a slice of cheese into her mouth, Octavia asked in a casual tone, “So, how do you like Margaret’s party the other day?”

Anya was taken aback by the topic. After a few seconds of pause, she responded with another question mark, “What about it?”

“Nothing, just in general, I wanted to know if you enjoyed it or not.”

“Yea, it was good.” Said Anya, using the wine as a disguise, an excuse for her reddening cheeks, “except for the part when you had the audacity to bail on me and go off to dance with George, and, you know, disappeared for the rest of the night.”

“Oh well.” Octavia laughed, “You do know I did not spend the entire evening dancing with him, right?”

Anya raised an eyebrow. “What did you do with him, then?”

“No, not like that.” Coughing, Octavia almost choked on her wine, “Oh, god, no. In fact, I was busy running away from him that night, after, you know, he asked me to be his girlfriend.”

Then it was Anya’s turn to get shocked.

She took way too many sips of her wine to calm herself down, so much that her throat began to sore, so much that drove Octavia wildly impatient, sucking the inside of her lips. Still, that did not stop Anya from bottoming up her glass, still wanting more.

“And to that you answered …?”

“Not yes, of course!” Exclaimed Octavia with wide eyes, “I never even liked him, not like that. You should know.”

“I mean, you have always been polite with him.”

“As I have with many others. It’s called manners. You should cultivate it some time.”

“Apparently not with me, though.” Whispered Anya.

“Apparently.” Echoed Octavia, closing in.

She was so close that Anya could feel her breathing upon her skin. Heat flared up inside her body. She tried to concentrate on Octavia’s beautiful eyes, and the stars swimming inside them, but that didn’t stop her stare from stealing a few glances down upon her lips.

“Because you’re not like the others.” Breathed Octavia, sealing the remaining distance in between them.

Octavia

Anya’s lips tasted exactly like what Octavia had imagined them to be. Sweet, soft, and a little bitter from the wine that she nearly bottomed. Octavia had planned to go slow at first, but she couldn’t resist the desire to go deeper, to explore more. Anya was startled in the beginning, her body still as a statue. But quickly their bodies intertwined, like pieces of puzzles fitting into the right places. Her fingers traced upon her silhouette right up into her hair, swimming deeper and deeper. Anya closed in on her, mounting her weight on her body. A quiet moan escaped her lips, until it grew louder and louder. She could feel her touch reaching for the underneath of her shirt, deeper, further, harder. When their lips finally parted, Anya directed her mouth down Octavia’s jaw lines to the side of her neck, their heavy breaths panting on each other’s skin. Then Octavia let out a groan.

“Fuck.”

Anya stiffed, then gently pulled away. “Too fast?”

Octavia blinked a few times before she collected herself to make out a reply. “Too slow... too late. We should have started this ages ago.”

But Anya climbed off her anyway. She avoided eye contact, staring at the running stream and the clear blue sky, everything but Octavia’s eyes, stuffing too many grapes inside her mouth all at the same time.

“You’ll choke yourself.” Finally, Octavia was the one to break the silence.

“As a matter of fact, this is how the Spaniards celebrate New Year. They stuff twelve grapes as they do the countdown, one for each second…”

“Anya.” Octavia interrupted her grand, yet barely a speech clear enough, sending in a deadly glare.

“Maybe you should’ve said something. Anything.” Anya shrugged, unable to articulate clearly due to her mouth full of fruits. “Instead of hanging me in the air for so many years.”

“Well, I didn’t know.” Argued Octavia.

“And now you do?” Anya sneered her eyes towards her, flared. “I suppose.” Octavia pressed her lips into a thin line.

“So what was that? Some kind of experiment?” Anya challenged.

“No!” Octavia shouted, perhaps a little too loud for the sake of their privacy. She extended her hands to reach for hers, who unwillingly escaped. “No, I wanted that. I do. It’s just... it took me some time to figure things out.” Octavia shut her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way.”

“So you knew, then?” asked Anya, “that I... that I have feelings for you?”

“I wasn’t sure.” Octavia sighed, pausing a little, shifting her gaze onto the waters, “I thought that maybe it was, I don’t know, something different.”

“And was it?” Their eyes met.

“It was not like anything else.”

They spent the entire afternoon kissing, exploring the mysterious land that neither of them had ever experienced before. Stay, Octavia had tried to convince Anya, brushing her lips against her ears, Stay at my place for the night. My family wouldn’t mind. At that, Anya all but laughed. I can’t. I have promised mine that I’d be home for dinner. Tell me, would you happen to have some coriander and chamomiles at your house by any chance?

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, celebrates creativity and expression across diverse literary categories. This prestigious event attracts talented writers and poets from around the world, providing a platform for sharing unique stories and experiences. Participants engage audiences with their original works, contributing to a vibrant global community of creative minds.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Sharon Fen for her captivating short story, "Anya," which adds a rich layer of storytelling to the competition. Her exploration of love and identity resonates deeply, reminding us of the power of words to connect and transform. We are grateful for her participation in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 and look forward to seeing more of her exceptional work.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.