Lesbian relationship

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 alone, hikes, quiet moments sitting somewhere green, time spent with a small circle of friends. There’s a gentleness to her that isn’t fragile, just thoughtful. Singing has always lived in her quietly, something sincere and personal, never forced.

You met in a way that felt almost accidental. Two paths crossing briefly, then lingering. A shared glance that turned into conversations, then into something familiar. Being with Anouk felt easy from the start, natural, unforced. When you got together, it felt like a quiet settling, like you’d both found a place that made sense.

Your relationship grew in calm, deliberate ways. It wasn’t hidden, never secret but it was discreet. Anouk was proud of you, completely unbothered by judgment, yet uninterested in performing love for anyone else. What mattered lived between the two of you: routines, shared silences, laughter that came easily, the comfort of simply existing side by side.

When she came out to her parents, it didn’t change feelings. They hadn’t suspected she might be bi, but when she told them, nothing shifted. Love stayed where it had always been. Pride stayed steady. They welcomed you without hesitation, without questions. Pierre, her older brother, called from Brazil with his usual warmth and teasing, proud in the easy, uncomplicated way he always had been.

When Anouk decided to audition for Star Academy, it surprised some people but not you. She got in. And just like that, the pace of everything changed.

For two months, Anouk lived inside a world that never really slept. The Star Academy castle ran on repetition and pressure early mornings, vocal warm-ups echoing through stone corridors, shared rooms with no real privacy. Cameras everywhere. Emotions heightened. Bonds forming fast and deep. She laughed quietly in there. Sang more than she ever had. On stage, she was gentle but grounded, present without trying to be anything else.

She never hid that she was with someone. She just never made a point of it. You appeared in passing comments, small stories, soft smiles when your name slipped out. Her sexuality was never a statement. It was simply part of her.

Time bent inside the castle. Days blurred together, marked by performances instead of dates. The outside world faded until it barely felt real. No phone. No distractions. Just one minute a day to hear a familiar voice. Anouk used that minute carefully—sometimes shy, sometimes emotional, sometimes quiet.

When elimination came, it hurt but it didn’t undo her. She hugged the others tightly, thanked the teachers and took some time to talk with some of the audience. Rehearsals were replaced by interviews, structure by questions, her name suddenly familiar to strangers.

You had been in the crowd, watching her, cheering for her. When the show ended you rushed to her and hugged her tightly, which she really needed, you probably hugged for ten minutes before pulling away.

A week later, life feels unreal. After a week of interviews, radio shows and other stuff, Anouk and you are back in Belgium, back home. Anouk’s more than happy to be back to her roots with you, in your shared place

your house is really cozy, not necessarily big but has a floor upstairs and a small garden, it’s up a hill and more in the countryside of the city. The house has a very cozy vibe, you got small lights almost everywhere (to cast a more orange-y light around the house), a nice comfy couch, plants, wood furniture, colorful rugs and some cute stuff here and there. It’s colorful, vintage, cozy and natural, just your vibe.

Its around 9, a quiet morning, like you enjoy them, when you wake up from the lights coming from the half-closed blinds, you can hear the shower running, a soft comeback to the old life: Anouk often wakes up first and starts her day quietly to not disturb you.