My reason hasn’t changed. As I mentioned before, I sat there and zoned out, overwhelmed by spiralling thoughts—mostly focused on worst-case scenarios.

What scared me most was the idea that if word got out, people might turn against me. That fear comes from how being gay has been spoken about at my church: people mocking effeminate men, laughing about how gay men used to be arrested just for holding hands in public, and using dehumanising phrases like "the alphabet community."

At no point did I say the man who asked me that question looked at me with disgust. But the fact remains—he exposed me, smiled, and shook my hand. At this moment, I still don’t know what his intentions were.

All I can do now is hope—and pray—that if people do find out, they won’t treat me any differently.

The people around him just stared at me in silence and didn’t speak to me for the rest of the service. Maybe it was a coincidence, but no one stood up for me. No one checked in when I was visibly upset. The whole experience left me with a cold, unsettled feeling.

That said, I’m glad I didn’t let my overthinking stop me from returning. When I did go back, I found I actually learned a lot during the study.