Her first kiss

The sun broke through the leaves like it had a purpose, golden and proud, casting warm streaks of light across the winding stone paths of Marigold University. The first week of classes had a buzz about it — the kind that wraps you in possibility and low-level anxiety. Backpacks bounced on shoulders, iced coffees balanced precariously in hand, and earbuds delivered a soundtrack to everyone’s own personal movie. Emily Davis adjusted her tote bag strap, her planner tucked beneath her arm like a sacred text. It was her third day on campus, and already she had figured out the best coffee stand, the least crowded bathroom in the science hall, and which bench got the best sun during lunchtime. A Psychology major with a soft spot for bullet journaling and a mild obsession with scented highlighters, Emily had always been a planner. She didn’t believe in chaos — or at least she believed it should be well-organized chaos. She had her future mapped out: graduate with honors, land a position as a school counselor, and eventually settle down with someone nice — someone tall, with a good laugh and kind eyes. Probably a guy who liked dogs. She didn’t think too hard about it. Why would she? Life was already moving just the way she expected. That morning, she was heading to the campus library, which had quickly become her favorite building — a fusion of old stone and glass, ivy trailing up the walls like green veins. She loved how quiet it was, how full of possibility it felt. That was when she saw her. A girl — sitting cross-legged on the steps of the library — head tilted back as she laughed into her phone. Shoulder-length dark hair curled around her cheekbones, and her denim jacket was covered in little enamel pins: rainbows, cartoon cats, slogans in a typewriter font. Emily slowed her steps. There was something about her — bold, colorful, unbothered by the rush of people weaving around her. She exhaled a small laugh at something on her phone, tucking it into her back pocket before slipping earbuds in. Then, she caught Emily’s stare. It was only for a second. But it felt longer. The girl smiled — not politely, not distantly. It was a real smile. The kind that lingered, like the ending of a good song. Emily flushed, immediately dropping her gaze and hurrying into the library. She didn’t even know the girl’s name. Emily buried herself in the quiet of the library like it was a shelter from a storm that hadn’t quite arrived. Her heart was doing something weird in her chest — not painful, not panicked, just... weird. That girl had looked at her like she knew her. Like they’d met in some parallel universe where Emily wasn’t awkward and overthinking and perpetually one beat behind the moment. She found an empty table by a window and pulled out her laptop. The screen glowed softly in the morning light, her fingers hovering above the keys. She tried to focus on her reading list — Psychology of Human Development — but her mind kept wandering back to the girl with the denim jacket and rainbow pins. Who was she? More importantly — why did that smile feel like something she wasn’t supposed to want? Emily had grown up in a small suburb outside of Sacramento, where people smiled politely but didn’t stray too far from what was “expected.” Boys dated girls. Girls dated boys. Her high school had one openly gay student — a quiet boy who mostly kept to himself. She had friends who joked about “experimenting in college,” but to Emily, that always felt like something other people did. Not her. She’d never even thought about it seriously. She wasn’t into girls. She was straight. Always had been. But… She hadn’t stopped thinking about that smile for a full hour. Later that day, after her classes were done and she’d highlighted her way through two chapters of Psych readings, Emily found herself at the campus café. It was one of those cozy places that looked like it had been pulled from the pages of a Pinterest board — mismatched chairs, overgrown plants, fairy lights hanging like low stars. She ordered a lavender iced latte and squeezed into a corner seat. She pulled out her phone to scroll, mostly to distract herself. That was when she heard a voice. “Mind if I sit?” Emily looked up. It was her. The girl from the library steps. The one with the rainbow pins and the laughing eyes. Emily blinked. “Uh, no. Go ahead.” The girl dropped her canvas messenger bag onto the floor and plopped into the seat opposite Emily like they were old friends. She smelled like sandalwood and something vaguely citrusy. “I’m Gabi,” she said, offering her hand across the table like they were in some kind of coffeehouse handshake ritual. Emily shook it, her own fingers cold against Gabi’s warmth. “Emily.” “Nice to meet you, Emily.” Gabi leaned back, eyes scanning the room. “This place is always packed. I swear people just come here to take aesthetic photos of their coffee.” Emily laughed nervously. “Probably.” Gabi tilted her head, smiling. “You’re a freshman, right?” Emily nodded. “Yeah. You?” “Sophomore. Lit major. I basically live off caffeine and feminist poetry.” Emily smiled, unsure of what to say next. Gabi didn’t seem to notice the pause. She was pulling a tattered paperback out of her bag — something with a red and orange cover and a title in French. “Do you speak French?” Emily asked, hoping it wasn’t a dumb question. Gabi grinned. “Barely. But I like pretending I do when I read Camus in public. Makes me feel mysterious.” Emily laughed. Really laughed this time. There was something effortless about Gabi — like she’d never learned how to be afraid of her own presence. Gabi sipped her iced americano and glanced at Emily. “So, what’s your deal?” “My... deal?” “Yeah. Your story. Everyone’s got one.” Emily chewed her straw. “I guess... I’m just trying to figure things out.” “Aren’t we all.” Gabi’s eyes softened. “You don’t have to know everything right now.” They talked for over an hour. About classes, hometowns, books, weird professors. Emily found herself saying things she usually didn’t in first conversations — like how she felt overwhelmed being away from home, how she sometimes worried she wasn’t cut out for all the pressure she put on herself. Gabi listened like it mattered. Like she didn’t want to fix her. Just hear her. By the time Emily left the café, the sun had dipped low, casting gold across the sidewalks. Her heart felt full in a way she didn’t fully understand. As she walked back to her dorm, her phone buzzed. A new message. Unknown Number: Hey, this is Gabi. Hope it’s okay I got your number from the campus Wi-Fi portal thing. You seem cool. Let’s get coffee again sometime. Emily stared at the screen, smiling. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Emily: Definitely. You seem cool too.