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“I just don’t understand why she hasn’t kissed me!” Imogen whines, smothering her face into her pillow.
She doesn’t need eyes to see the look Nick and Charlie share.
“Maybe, she’s just taking it slow?” Charlie offers. “It wasn’t too long ago that you were proclaiming your allyship.”
Imogen rolls off her pillow onto the bed, bumping into Nick’s pyjama-covered thigh. She sighs. “I know, I know. But, I’m ready, I swear! We’ve done everything but kiss, and it’s making me—”
She cuts herself off, and smothers her face with her pillow again.
Insecure. What if Sahar doesn’t want to kiss her? What if she thinks Imogen is ugly? Sahar’s too nice for that, but it doesn’t stop the voice in Imogen’s head from screaming at her.
“Girlfriends are supposed to kiss!” Imogen moans.
“How long has it been since you started dating?” Nick asks.
Imogen pulls off the pillow. She frowns. “I don’t know, a couple weeks, maybe?”
“How did it go?” Charlie asks. At Imogen’s look of confusion, he clarifies. “The conversation of actually becoming girlfriends.”
Imogen shrugs. “I don’t know. It just kind of… happened.”
They share another look, and she groans. “I can see you two doing that. Look, I don’t know what to tell you. It just happened,” Imogen mumbles. “I don’t have any experience with girls, okay? With boys it was easy, and it was direct. If they wanted to ask me out, they did, and I knew how to deal with that, but I don’t know how to have a girlfriend—I don’t know how to be a girlfriend to a girl.” She thinks she might cry.
Nick is the first to break the silence. “Hey,” he starts, gentle—as if he’s trying not to spook a baby deer. “We’re not here to make this any harder, Imogen. All I’m trying to ask is if…” He trails off.
“If what?” Imogen looks up at him.
Nick sighs, chewing his lip for a second. “Does Sahar know you’re dating? If you two getting together ‘just happened’, then maybe there’s been some miscommunication.”
Imogen’s face scrunches up in confusion. “Of course she knows we’re dating. I was at her house this weekend. We cuddled. We slept in the same bed.” She huffs in annoyance, “I kissed her on the cheek!”
“Maybe she thinks you’re just a very affectionate ally?” Charlie says. Imogen glares at him. He raises his hands in defence. “I’m just saying. Sometimes, the way she looks at you—it’s like… sad.”
Imogen pushes herself onto her elbows. “What do you mean?”
Charlie shrugs. “I don’t know, just sometimes, I catch her staring at you when you’re not looking, and it’s like sad, gay pining. Like how I used to look at Nick when I thought he was straight.”
Imogen frowns. “But, like, I told her I liked her.”
Was she not clear enough? Should she have yelled it from the rooftops? Gotten her a bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates?
“Do you really think she doesn’t know we’re dating?” She asks.
Nick and Charlie look at each other.
“I think you should just ask her,” Nick states. “You’re girlfriends, having these conversations is important.”
Charlie nods. “Make sure you’re on the same page, and all.”
Imogen closes her eyes. “Yeah. Maybe.”
The Conversation, as Imogen has deemed it in her head, does not happen in the two weeks after her talk with Nick and Charlie.
Imogen hates confrontation. She’s not a confrontational person.
She likes to bury her feelings, likes to pretend everything is fine and all sunshines and rainbows until eventually it all goes to shit, and she’s forced to face the situation. (See, for reference, the public call-out of he-who-shall-not-be-named in a small, Parisian restaurant.)
Imogen especially hates confrontation when it’s about someone she truly, deeply cares about. Someone like Sahar.
What if she asks her, and all her worst fears come true? What if Sahar tells her she doesn’t ever want to kiss her? What if Nick was right, and Sahar doesn’t know if they’re dating?
“Hey, what’s going on?” Sahar asks, hand hovering close to Imogen’s but never quite touching. Imogen tries to control her disappointment. “You look… distracted.”
Imogen gives her a small smile, letting out a shaky breath. She reaches out for Sahar’s hand. Sahar lets her take it, lets her play with the multitude of rings that line her fingers. “Nothing,” she placates.
Sahar frowns.
“I promise, I’ll get over it,” Imogen clarifies.
It’s fine.
It’s totally fine if Sahar doesn’t want to kiss her. Imogen can deal with that.
In fact, it might even be better. What with her track record of awful boyfriends who saw her as nothing more than eye-candy, or a pretty girl they could use to boost their popularity and show off to their shitty friends.
She’s fine with not kissing as long she gets to watch her girlfriend on stage, fingers strumming along her guitar, and she’s fine with not kissing as long as she gets to cuddle her girlfriend anytime she wants, and she’s fine with not kissing as long as Sahar stays by her side.
“I’m fine,” she tells Sahar, smoothing out the furrow between her eyebrows that hasn’t left with the pad of her thumb. “Really.”
“We’re playing at the Pink Petal this weekend,” Sahar comments, not looking up from her maths coursework.
She does that a lot, Imogen’s noticed. She’ll say something, drop a tidbit of information about something she’s doing, waiting for Imogen to ask if she can come instead of asking Imogen herself. As if she still doesn’t think Imogen will say yes if Sahar’s the one asking.
Imogen pushes her thoughts away and smiles. “You want me there?”
Sahar shrugs, in an attempt to look nonchalant. It doesn’t work, and Imogen’s heart beats. Her girlfriend is so cute. “Yeah, I mean, if you’re free. The band’s playing our new songs. It’ll be cool.”
“Yeah?” Imogen rolls onto her back, closer to Sahar. “I’d love to come. Get me the best ticket in the room.”
Sahar rolls her eyes, flicking Imogen’s forehead lightly. “There’s only one type of ticket. But, you can come hang out with us in the back after the show.”
Imogen smiles, rubbing at the spot. “Sure.”
They stare at each other for a second, Sahar’s tense shoulders relaxing, before Imogen giggles. “Were you worried I would say no?”
Sahar scoffs, ears turning red. “No, why would I be?”
“You so were! Oh my god, you thought I would say no!” Imogen sits up, crowding Sahar against the side of her bed.
“No, I didn’t,” Sahar emphasises. “I just didn’t know if you would be free. I thought you might be hanging out with Nick and the others.”
Imogen laughs. “You’re so cute,” she cups Sahar’s face in her hands, sees hazel eyes widen and feels the skin under her palms heat up. “I would drop everything to see your shows. Nick and the others can wait.”
Sahar looks away, best she can with her face still held captive by Imogen’s hands. “Okay, okay, I get it, can you let me go?”
Imogen smiles again. She presses a quick kiss to Sahar’s cheek. “Now, I can let you go.”
The Pink Petal is packed by the time Imogen arrives. It’s a small cafe, bookshop, and live music stage all combined into one, and perfect for Sahar’s band to practise with an actual audience instead of just the four walls of their garage.
Imogen grabs a cup of tea from the counter, and spots Tara and Darcy at one of the tables in the corner.
She hesitates for a moment, wondering whether they would want her there or not, when Darcy looks up and gestures for her to come.
“Hey,” Imogen greets with a smile, hiding her nerves. She doesn’t really know how they feel about her after the whole cafeteria situation. She hadn’t really apologised for it, at least not properly. “I didn’t know you two were coming to the show.”
“We didn’t know Sahar’s band would be performing, actually,” Tara tells her. “We just come here for date nights.”
“Personally, I’m a little offended Sahar didn’t tell us,” Darcy quips, with a mock-glare to the empty stage.
Imogen laughs. “I’m sure she wanted to.”
“Did you know she was performing?” Tara asks, sipping her drink.
Imogen nods. “Yeah, she told me a few days ago. I think she was nervous to ask me to come. She kept dropping little comments until I asked her myself,” she huffs a laugh. “She was so cute.”
Tara and Darcy share a look, and Imogen wonders why all the couples around her seem to be able to communicate with each other telepathically.
“So, you know, then?” Darcy asks, with a slight eyebrow raise.
Imogen cocks her head. “About… the show?”
“No,” Tara shakes her head. She looks around before ducking her head, lowering her voice to just above a whisper, “about Sahar’s feelings for you.”
Imogen stares at them for a moment—before, promptly and abruptly, bursting into a fit of giggles.
Tara and Darcy share identical frowns, as Imogen tries her best to calm down. Tara’s the one who interrupts her burst of laughter, with a hard edge to her voice, “I know you’re straight, Imogen, but you shouldn’t laugh at someone’s feelings.”
That wipes the smile off Imogen’s face immediately. She fists the material of her dress. “I’m not straight, and I’m not laughing at Sahar, I’m laughing at the fact that you think I don’t know about my girlfriend’s feelings for me.”
Darcy’s jaw drops, and Tara’s eyes widen in shock.
Imogen crosses her arms.
“You’re dating Sahar?” Darcy asks.
“Why is that so unbelievable to you?” Imogen retorts. Maybe because you haven’t kissed once, in the three weeks you’ve been dating.
Tara looks at her, pointedly.
Imogen groans. “Okay, I get why you don’t believe me, but I promise you, we are dating.”
“Well,” Darcy claps her hands together. “Congratulations, and welcome to the lovely experience of being sapphic!”
“We’re really happy for you,” Tara tells Imogen, resting her hand over Imogen’s.
“Thank you,” Imogen smiles.
One of Sahar’s bandmates comes onto the stage, informing everyone that they’ll be starting soon.
Imogen chews the inside of her cheek, in thought. Tara and Darcy have been together for a while. And, they’re both lesbians. They’re experienced in the field of sapphic relationships. Surely, they won’t make fun of her.
“How long after you got together, did you kiss? Like, on the lips? Because, we’ve been dating for like three weeks, and she won’t kiss me, and I don’t know if that’s, like, normal with girls, or something, but I’m worried,” Imogen blurts, in one breath. Her mind’s racing, a million thoughts running through her head. “What if she’s just dating me because she feels sorry for me? Like, ha ha, look at the baby lesbian who’s never dated a girl before.”
“Imogen, take a deep breath,” Tara’s voice filters in. Imogen inhales, feeling the knots in her stomach fade with every exhale. “That’s it, just keep breathing, nice and slow.”
When her heart rate slow downs to normal, Darcy slides a glass of water across the table. “Drink some water, first.”
Imogen grabs the cup with shaky hands, and takes small sips. “Sorry. I—sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Tara says. “Everyone’s first gay crisis is always dramatic.”
Imogen manages a small chuckle.
“First things first,” Darcy starts. “All relationships are different. You can’t compare yourself to me or Tara. But, if you really want to know, we kissed before we got together. Then, we kissed probably every second after we got together.”
“That doesn’t mean anything, though. Some people never kiss, and some people wait. It just depends on who you are,” Tara adds.
“Nick and Charlie said she might be taking it slow.”
Tara nods. “She could be.”
“They also said she might not even think we’re dating,” Imogen whispers.
Darcy’s lips part in an understanding ‘ah’. “I might agree with them honestly.”
Imogen looks at her in worry.
“Sapphic relationships are different.” Tara tells her, gently, “And, with your very vocal past of boyfriends, and crushes on boys—not that should dictate anything—yeah, she might not have understood what you meant.”
Imogen pouts. “I told her I liked her.”
“How’d you say it?” Darcy asks.
“I don’t know, I think I just said, ‘I really like you, Sahar’, and that was it,” Imogen shrugs. “I hugged her, and, yeah.”
“And, what did she say to that?”
“She said, ‘thank you’, and hugged me back.”
“Yeah, I think I know why she hasn’t kissed you.”
Imogen perks up, “Really?”
Darcy nods, sagely. “Yes.”
“Why do you think she hasn’t kissed me?” Imogen asks.
“Because that wasn’t an agreement to start dating,” Darcy throws her hands up in frustration. Tara nods. “Do you know how many times a girl has done that to me? I can’t even count it on my fingers.”
Imogen whines, letting her head fall onto the table. “Are you serious?”
“One hundred percent. Girls are usually more vocal about their feelings, you know. As a lesbian, you can hardly ever tell if they’re being platonic, or if they actually like you, romantically,” Darcy explains. “It’s very confusing.”
“I’ve never had many friends who were girls,” Imogen mumbles. “I’ve never really had friends, actually. That would’ve been enough for any boy to start showing me off as his girlfriend.”
“Oh, Imogen,” Tara pats her head. “It’s okay.”
Imogen whips her head up, heart racing as she recounts the last three weeks. “No! It’s not okay. I’ve been embarrassing myself in front of her for ages!”
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Darcy says.
“Oh, it was definitely that bad,” Imogen groans. “I cupped her face and told her she was cute! Then, I kissed her on the cheek!”
Tara winces, and tries to hide it, but she’s no way near fast enough.
Imogen points at her. “See! Exactly! I can never see her again. She’s probably just been putting up with me because we have too many mutual friends. Oh my god, this is why she never asks me to come to anything herself. I think I might throw up.”
Darcy and Tara share a look, but Imogen’s too wrapped up in her head to notice.
The band still hasn’t come on stage, and Imogen thanks god for the little things. She grabs her cup of tea, now cold and disgusting, and throws her coat over her arm. “I can’t stay here, fuck, she definitely didn’t want me here. She wasn’t nervous, she was thinking of how to tell me no,” Imogen whispers to herself, stumbling out of her chair.
“Imogen—”
She shakes her head. “No, please don’t. Um, thank you for making me realise I was being an idiot,” she chuckles, hollow and fake. “If she asks, just tell her I felt sick.”
Would Sahar even care?
Imogen turns, and rushes out of the cafe—heart cracking into tiny little pieces, and eyes watering.
Imogen cries. A lot.
In the days after her conversation with Tara and Darcy, she cries more than when she realized the year 12 boy with the piercings, rings, and guitar had a girlfriend, more than when she broke up with Ben, more than when Nick gently rejected her.
It’s her first real heartbreak, she thinks. And, the worst part is that it’s all her fault.
The Monday after the weekend at the Pink Petal is—rough, to say the least. Tara and Darcy look at her like they would at a small puppy who’s been kicked one too many times.
Nick and, by extension, Charlie give her sympathy hugs that last one second too long. She sort of regrets texting Nick an update. The less people who knew about her patheticness, the better it would’ve been.
She’s sure the news of her delusions will reach the whole of their school, and she’ll have to go into hiding. Imogen wonders how long it would take to change her name, and identity, and move to the other side of the world. Her parents would understand, surely. She’ll swear off dating forever, like she knows they want her to.
“Hey,” Sahar’s voice comes in from her right, and Imogen freezes.
She squeezes her books to her chest, and doesn’t look at her—Sahar. “Sorry, I’m late for maths. I have to go, sorry.”
Imogen doesn’t wait for a response before she practically runs away.
(Later, she’ll facepalm at the fact that the bell wouldn’t have rung for another ten minutes, and she had been early on purpose in hopes of avoiding Sahar.)
“This is ridiculous,” Sahar complains, watching Imogen speed walk away from her. It’s the fourth time Imogen has made up some bullshit reason to avoid her and, quite frankly, she’s getting tired of it. “I don’t even know what I did,” she mumbles, covering her face with her hands.
All Sahar remembers is Imogen being excited to come to the Pink Petal, only to not be there when her band came out onto the stage. And, now, she’s being blown off every time she tries to talk to her.
Nick chews his lip, and looks at anything in the room but Sahar.
Sahar narrows her eyes. “You know something.”
Nick shakes his head. “No, no, I don’t know anything.”
“Spill it, Nelson.”
“I don’t, I promise,” he holds his hands up in defence. Sahar cocks an eyebrow. “All I’ll say is she’s hurt.”
Sahar frowns. What exactly had she done to make Imogen avoid her like she was carrying the plague?
Nick sighs. “Look, Sahar, I don’t think it was intentional on your part. She said something, and meant it one way, and you might’ve understood it another way. And, that’s more than I should’ve said.”
Sahar leans back into her chair, and closes her eyes.
Imogen decides it’s time to focus on school. Enough of boys, and enough of girls. Silly crushes are part of the past. It’s her time to dominate her coursework instead.
So, as part of her plan to improve her grades, she’s holed up in the very corner of the library—surrounded by all of her coursework, her mind determined.
Eventually, she’ll get over Sahar and they’ll get back to being just friends who have mutual friends. She’ll stop yearning to hold ring-lined fingers, and she’ll be able to watch Sahar play guitar on stage without her heart threatening to beat out of her chest.
“Please don’t run away, again.”
Imogen muffles a scream, and stares at Sahar with her hands over her mouth. Sahar waits for a minute, taking a seat next to Imogen, waiting to see if she’ll run off.
“I don’t know what I did,” Sahar starts, fidgeting with the straps of her bag. “But, I never meant to hurt you. And, I don’t want to give you some half-hearted apology, without knowing what I did, so. Please, Imogen, can you tell me what I did wrong?”
The way Sahar says her name, all soft and sweet, reopens the carefully stitched together pieces of her heart.
Imogen’s hands drop to her sides, and she looks at the earnest expression on Sahar’s face. She looks beautiful, as she always has, and Imogen finds her eyes watering. The ache in her chest is back, ten times as strong, and Imogen doesn’t know if she’s strong enough.
“Oh,” Sahar whispers. “I made you cry.”
Imogen shakes her head. “No, sorry, I’m just being stupid.”
Sahar pauses for a moment, eyes flickering between Imogen’s face and her hands clasped together in her lap.
Imogen takes deep breaths, fighting back the tears that are threatening to overflow.
Then, Sahar moves forward, and takes Imogen’s hands in hers. And, really, there’s no plausibility in the idea of Imogen being able to stay calm.
“I’m sorry, please don’t cry, I’m sorry,” Sahar whispers, thumb rubbing circles into the back of Imogen’s hand.
“It’s not your fault,” Imogen tells her, between shaky breaths. “I just don’t know how to be a proper lesbian.”
Sahar’s hands still on top of hers.
“Oh god, you didn’t even know,” Imogen whines, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. How loud had she been about her allyship that no one could tell when she came out? How had she been expecting Sahar to kiss her when she hadn’t known Imogen was queer, let alone think they were dating? “This is so stupid.”
Sahar clears her throat. “It’s not stupid. It’s not stupid, Imogen. I’m sorry for not noticing.”
“It’s fine,” Imogen sniffles. “Tara and Darcy doubted it. Nick had to take, like, ten minutes to process it. It’s no wonder you didn’t notice I liked you,” she mumbles, wishing she could disappear into a hole in the ground and never come back.
“What?” Sahar’s voice cracks. Her hands drop from Imogen’s.
Imogen’s heart sinks.
She hadn’t meant for Sahar to hear that. And, now she’s going to tell Imogen she wants nothing to do with her. She’s ruined any chance at a friendship she ever had.
“What?” Sahar repeats, dumbfounded.
“Nothing! Ignore it, please, please, just ignore everything I said,” Imogen rushes out. “You don’t need to worry about it.”
“You like me?” Sahar asks, voice pitching up.
Imogen winces. “You don’t have to do anything about it, Sahar. Please, just ignore it. I’ll get over it, and we don’t even have to be friends if it makes you uncomfortable. I’m really sorry.”
She’s so busy trying to explain herself, she doesn’t notice Sahar moving forward.
A pair of hands cup her face, and Imogen’s lips press together at the speed of light.
“Hey,” Sahar says. “I’m not going to ignore it, and I’m not going to stop being your friend, because, Imogen—I like you, too.”
Imogen stares at Sahar. Then, she blinks. And, blinks again.
“What?”
“I like you, too,” Sahar emphasises. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice. I’m so sorry, Imogen, I was so preoccupied with thinking you were straight that I didn’t realise what you were trying to say.”
Sahar’s hands drop from her face, but she grabs a hold of Imogen’s hands again. Imogen’s heart skips a beat. “It was that weekend, right? When you came over for a sleepover, and you told me you liked me.”
Imogen wants to hide. “Yeah.”
“Oh my god, is that why you got so clingy after?” Sahar asks, with a slightly teasing smile. “Because you thought I understood?”
Imogen finds her voice failing. She nods, instead, and closes her eyes.
“You’re so cute,” Sahar laughs. “But, you do remember that I didn’t say it back?”
Imogen looks away, and mumbles. “No one’s ever said it back. You hugged me, and that was enough for me.”
Sahar’s smile fades, and she looks at Imogen with a whirlwind of emotions in her eyes. “I’ll say it back. I’ll say it all the time. Whenever you want me to, and even if you don’t ask. I’ll tell you I like you. Fuck all the others.”
Imogen glances at Sahar, and finds nothing but pure sincerity staring back. “Really? You like me? Like, romantically?”
Sahar nods. “Cross my heart. I like you, Imogen. You are so wonderful, and I’m sorry I didn’t understand you earlier.”
Imogen rushes forward, heart racing, and the widest smile on her face. She wraps her arms around Sahar. “It’s okay,” she mumbles into Sahar’s shoulders. “Say it again.”
Sahar giggles, snaking her arms around Imogen’s waist. “I like you, I like you, I like you. I like you so much, Imogen.”
“I like you, too,” Imogen says. Then, she pulls back from the hug to look Sahar in the eyes. “This means we’re girlfriends, right? Because I don’t want to think we’re together for it to not be true. Again.”
Sahar grins, pulls Imogen closer, and knocks their foreheads together. “I’ll ask you, officially, okay? Ready?” At Imogen’s small nod, “Okay, Imogen Heaney, will you be my girlfriend?”
“Yes,” Imogen whispers, eyes flickering to Sahar’s lips. When Sahar smiles, Imogen slots their lips together, and feels sparks light up against their lips, their arms, their legs.
It feels so unbelievably good to kiss her girlfriend.
Imogen never wants to stop.