Bloom by Lauren Alexandra

On the big screen love always seems to begin with some big moment, but staring at the girl beside me I can’t help but believe that the most captivating love comes from something perhaps unconventional. Holding hands, she looks both ways before leading me across the road. She looks back at me with a grin as we wind in between people and cars and dogs. The air is as grey as the sky as we duck into a café resting on the corner of a busy street, hot air grabbing hold of our long hair and skin.

Her smile could make me do anything, is all I can think as I try to order a drink in very bad Bulgarian.

“Not bad,” Iva says, turning to order for herself in a flow of fluency. The cashier seems as struck by her beauty as I was and continue to be as he starts a conversation with her. I may have little understanding of the language, but I know his words escape the confines of a drink order. She politely ends the conversation, grabbing our drinks and finding a small table in the midst of the cafés chatter.

“This okay?” She asks, shrugging her leather jacket off.

“It’s perfect,” I sit across from her, feeling too much in my own head as she leans forward across the table and takes a hold of my cold fingers.

“Tell me about your week.”

“Well, I didn’t do that much other than school you know. Just volleyball practise really,” I feel so boring and ordinary, but her aura coaxes my shy soul.

“I really want to watch your next game,” “Only if you let me come to your next ballet performance.” I look at her pointedly, not being able to stop the smile that blooms as her eyes sparkle. She bites her lip in thought, taking a sip of her hot tea.

“We’re putting on a Christmas performance, I can see about getting you a ticket.” She looks back at me then, her big grey eyes look as if she’s captured the sky and is holding it there.

“I wanted to show you something,” I start, feeling hesitant. I look at her face as it moves into wonder. I reach for my bag and pull out a weathered book, once neat and organised but now hints of art spill out onto the edges. I stare at the patterned cover for perhaps a moment longer than I should. For the past couple years I have been keeping a collection of art journals, filled with doodles and paintings and sketches and raw feeling. As I hand it to her delicate fingertips I feel as if I’m handing over a glowing part of me that makes me shake with nerves.

Her face fills with light as she begins to move through the pages, studying each with care. She stops suddenly, her eyes focused on a page decorated with water coloured flowers surrounding a poem I wrote.

“Yes.” I say, answering her unspoken question as she looks up at me. She clumsily shuffles her chair closer to me then, pulling me in for a soft kiss. I’m lost in the air of her rose perfume, using the beautiful fragrance as an excuse to move closer. Pulling away, her features all smile at me with a feeling that makes my stomach turn and dance. The magic is pulled away from me as I feel eyes on us, I turn slightly.

“Can we go somewhere, maybe take a walk in the park?” I suggest, already reaching for my bag as the small café seems a lot stuffier than it was before. Despite the cold winter air hitting my exposed skin, I wait before pulling on my coat.

“You’ll get sick,” Iva says with a frown, moving closer to me. Her softness suffocates the stuffy feeling building in my lungs and I shiver, feeling the cold for the first time since leaving the café.

I let my cracked fingers find hers, holding her hand with a type of defiance that makes my blood shake as people past. Most don’t offer a second glance, but it doesn’t really matter how many people don’t stare but how many people do stare.

Walking through the city, easiness flows back through my veins and I can breathe normally again. I sigh, moving closer to Iva. She smiles at me, giggling as her long hair tickles my face. I look at her brown eyes as they carefully watch her feet, glancing at my shadow on the path beside hers.

It starts to rain suddenly, the soft sunlight fading behind a cloud and letting cool droplets take its place. We look at each other, unsure of what to do. Iva lets out a loud laugh then, grabbing my hand as we run through the rain. I feel like I’m living inside some beautiful movie only a small audience gets to see, not caring about the water splashing my face and feet as we run clumsily along some tram tracks.

She stops without warning, causing me to bump into her. She just laughs even more, pulling me against her as she leans against a big tree. Its leaves spread out above us like a forgiving hand, extending itself to us in mercy. I let myself rest against her, our lips meeting in secret as we hide behind a curtain of green. I feel safe here, hidden and myself. The crisp air makes me feel alive, present. I look at Iva and wish I could be like her. Beautiful, confident, recklessly herself. Instead I’m terrified. Terrified of myself, my habits, and my love for other women. As I trace a finger back into the depths of my mind, I know it was always there. I should have always known. But I didn’t. I can blame the social normalities or I can blame myself for always being so scared, so anxious. My hands begin to shake and I feel it in my lungs, my ribs, my blood.

“Are you cold?” Iva asks, worry folding her features into something so beautiful I have to look away. Her tiny hands grasp mine, warm with love and kindness.

I kiss her.

I kiss her more passionately than I’ve ever done before, shredding the fear I’ve always felt and forcing it into something else. Something more.

In that moment, I’m not scared. I’m not filled with nerves and hatred and pain. Instead, I’m filled with her. I breathe her in until my head feels dizzy, exhaling her out in puffs of scented smoke. I love her, and as she slips through my cold fingers I scream it once, twice, three times. I loved her.