The afternoons became quieter once Emily started showing up at the art building more often.
It had started as a casual thing. Riley would text her—sometimes just a doodle, sometimes a sarcastic comment about a professor—and Emily would reply, awkward but smiling. Then one day, Riley had said, "Come hang out. I'll even share my snacks." And somehow, Emily said yes.
Now it was happening more regularly. Not every day, but enough that it felt… familiar.
They rarely talked about big things. Instead, they filled the time with little ones—class gossip, music, books, sketches. Riley would sprawl out on the grass or the hallway floor and draw in her sketchpad. Emily would sit cross-legged nearby, sometimes reading, sometimes just watching.
She liked watching Riley. The way her eyes narrowed when she concentrated. The way her lips curled up just slightly when she got something right on the page. The way she seemed to take up space without even trying.
"Do you always draw people?" Emily asked once, peering over Riley's shoulder as she sketched.
"Not always," Riley said. "But yeah. Faces interest me. Expressions. Moments you can't fake."
Emily hummed. "I think I'd be scared to be drawn. Like it'd say too much about me."
Riley looked at her then, really looked. "Maybe that's why you should try it. Let someone see you."
Emily flushed and turned away, but the words stayed with her.
—
Later that week, they sat side by side in the campus café, Riley sipping black coffee, Emily stirring sugar into her tea just to have something to do with her hands.
"Did you always know?" Emily asked suddenly, not quite meeting her gaze.
Riley blinked. "Know what?"
"You know… that you liked girls."
Riley didn't seem surprised by the question. She set her coffee down and leaned back. "I think I always knew something. But I didn't have words for it until I was about fifteen. And by then, I was already tired of pretending."
Emily nodded slowly. "I'm still figuring things out."
"That's okay."
Emily looked up. "Is it?"
Riley smiled, softer this time. "Of course it is."
They sat in silence for a moment, the background noise of the café fading into something gentle. Emily felt strangely safe there, like the world had stopped pressing in for a minute.
"You know," Riley said, tilting her head, "you don't have to explain yourself to anyone."
"I know," Emily said quietly. "But I feel like I still have to explain myself to me."
Riley reached across the table then, just a quick, light touch on Emily's hand. No pressure. Just presence. Emily didn't pull away.
And that, more than anything, felt like a beginning.
—
In the coming days, they didn't label anything. They didn't even talk about it again. But they kept finding each other in small ways.
Emily started laughing more. Riley started sketching her more.
And neither of them said it aloud—but both felt it growing.
Not love. Not yet.
But something softer, scarier, and just as real.