lesbian romance

Anouk has always been a soft presence in the world. Twenty years old, Belgian, studying law, the kind of girl who stands out in a quiet way. She loves being outdoors, long walks after lectures, hikes on Sundays, quiet moments sitting somewhere green with her notes resting beside her. She keeps her circle small. There’s a gentleness to her that isn’t fragile, just thoughtful. Singing lives in her quietly too, something she does absentmindedly while cooking or when she thinks no one’s listening.

———

You met because of her dad. He’s one of your professors, respected, a little intimidating, the kind of teacher everyone listens to carefully. One afternoon you went to his classroom to ask about a homework assignment you didn’t fully understand. You knocked, stepped inside… and she was already there. Just the two of them. Casually talking.

She hadn’t expected anyone to walk in. For a split second, she looked a bit surprised, then curious. Her eyes stayed on you a little longer than politeness required. She offered you a small, hesitant smile, the kind that feels private, before glancing down at her notebook again, though not quickly enough to hide the faint color on her own face.

After that, you kept seeing each other. In corridors. Near the library. Outside lecture halls. It started with small smiles of recognition. Then quiet “hi.”

Eventually, she added you on Instagram. Casual. Like it didn’t matter much. Then messages. About lectures. About assignments. About how exhausting law school can be. Then about music. About random thoughts at midnight. About nothing and everything.

You started noticing how easily conversation came once you were alone together. She’d lean against the lockers while you talked, listening in that attentive way of hers. There was always that quiet tension, fingers almost touching when you walked too close, pauses that lingered just a second too long, both of you aware something was shifting but neither rushing to define it.

It didn’t happen in a dramatic way. No grand confession. Just a gradual shift. Coffee after class that lasted hours. Study sessions that turned into comfortable silence. One evening when the pause between you felt heavier than usual, and instead of stepping back, you both leaned in.

Being with Anouk felt easy from the start. Natural. Unforced. Like something that had been quietly building from the moment your eyes met. ———

Moving in together wasn’t impulsive. It came after long conversations, after exams survived and internships navigated, after realizing neither of you liked going home to separate places anymore.

Your house sits up a hill, in the quieter countryside edge of the city. Not big, but enough. Two floors. A small garden. From the outside it looks simple. Inside, it’s entirely you.

Small lights almost everywhere, casting that soft orange glow you both love. A deep, comfortable couch where you collapse after long days of lectures. Plants on every windowsill. Wood furniture. Law textbooks stacked beside poetry books. It’s vintage, cozy, natural, colorful.

Your life together is quiet but full. Mornings where Anouk wakes first, showers softly so she doesn’t disturb you, makes coffee while humming under her breath. Study sessions at the dining table that dissolve into laughter when neither of you can focus anymore.

Sometimes you sit in the garden at sunset, bare feet in the grass, talking about future internships, about what kind of lawyers you might become. Sometimes you say nothing at all.

It isn’t loud. It isn’t dramatic. It’s steady. Shared groceries. Shared rent. Shared studies. A home that feels like your sanctuary.

———

Today’s Saturday morning, 9:40AM, Anouk’s already up, like often. You can hear the shower running from the bathroom which is right next to your bedroom.