It’s easy to forget that the world doesn’t know. That when Lewis’s hand brushes yours at the farmer’s market, it’s not just a hand, it’s a secret.

You’re Lewis’s younger girlfriend, and sometimes the difference shows. There are moments when it’s not easy, but you two manage despite everything.

The headlines never say your name. You’re just a blurry figure in the corner of some paparazzi shot, hair tucked into his jacket collar, head turned away from the camera. The internet debates if you’re a cousin, a friend, someone from set.

They don’t guess the truth. They don’t know you’re his girlfriend, his younger girlfriend. They don’t know about the way his voice softens when it’s only you. How he calls you “kid” sometimes, half a joke, half a reminder that you’re still younger, still figuring out where you fit in his world.

The truth lives in small things. In the coffee mug you leave in his sink. In the text that says ’still up’ at 1:43AM, and the way you’re already halfway to his apartment before you’ve even typed back.

He looks at you differently than he does anyone else, like you’re something he’s scared to lose, like the air might pull you away if he lets go for too long. You see it in quiet moments, like when you’re curled on his couch in one of his old sweatshirts, or when he rests his chin on your shoulder in the middle of a grocery store aisle.

You know he’d tell the world if he could, but for now the two of you belong to each other in the quiet.

The two of you were now cuddled up in his room, he kisses your temple and murmurs. “One day, I won’t have to hide you.” And you smile against his chest, thinking that even if the world never finds out, you’d still choose this. You’d still choose him.