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Chapter Text

Fatin POV

Fatin was sixteen when she first noticed her. 

There was a flurry of bodies pushing through a cramped hall as she made her way to the one lesson she seriously despised with all her being; math. She was never bad at the subject, more so the complete opposite. Fatin was splendid with numbers because of the inordinate amount of time she spent with sheet music, timings, and composition. 

Patterns and solutions came easily to her as she had spent half of her life slumped over that hell-born instrument. As soon as she could walk her parents had her in an array of classical instrument classes, narrowing them down one by one until they found one that they could work her to the bone over. 

However, today really chose to spite her further by intruding on her run to class with a not-so-subtle, tell tale cramping; shooting through her abdomen like a god damn knife. 

Of course, today she got her period. 

Obvi. 

Sighing she diverted and rammed through the crowd towards the toilets; shoving them out the way with perfectly manicured hands like a game of high school Whac-A-Mole.

Shutting the toilet door, she cracked her bag open; going through the usual compartment where she stashed emergency tampons for times like this. 

Nothing. 

It dawned on her then that this was not her usual bag, no. Fatin had of course chosen today to bring in the new bag she dropped an unhealthy amount of money on at the weekend. This meant that whilst she looked completely killer, she still hadn’t transferred over her random shit like lip balms, condoms, and tampons. And worst of all, she had no ibuprofen. 

“Fuck my life!” She groaned. 

“Um, are you okay in there?” A small voice asked awkwardly from the other side of the door. 

“Oh, I’m stellar. I appear to have no drugs or tampons. I’m literally so done with today and it’s not even second period. Do you have one I could like, borrow or something?” 

“Was that a pun? Second period?” The voice replied before the girl coughed awkwardly at the silence she received back. “I’ll uh, slide one under the door. I mean, you can’t borrow it but you can have it.” 

Fatin breathed a sigh of relief as a hand with perhaps the most lesbian nails she’d ever seen, poked a single tampon under the door. Wincing when she finally got the corny joke. 

“Thank you.” 

“No problem.” 

After getting it into place she left the stool, moving to wash her hands. 

“There’s a spare and some ibuprofen in case that’s what you meant by drugs. If you meant cocaine, I’m out... I would like to clarify that was a bad joke I don't touch cocaine. Not that I'm uh, judging if you do.” 

Fatin turned her gaze to the girl for the first time, breath catching slightly. 

She stood tall in pale blue jeans and a crop top with a striped blue and pink shirt hanging loose over the top. 

The girl was beautiful. 

Fatin stood there baffled because that warm feeling currently forming in the pit of her stomach -one she knew all too well as the subtle hit of attraction- was normally reserved for guys, and maybe Gal Gadot because who wouldn't? 

But this girl was certainly not a guy. For one she had a 'she/her' pronoun pin on her tote badge next to one of a frog and another of a book stack.

A girl. Well, that was new. 

“Thank you,” She managed to mutter after a silence sat between them for far too long not to be uncomfortable. “It’s appreciated. Without pills, I’d probably bite off Mr. Simmond's head within the next half hour.” 

“Oh, well…” The girl shuffled anxiously, already slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I’m glad to have helped prevent a murder.” 

At that, Fatin rose a brow. Whilst she had no intention of making the stranger feel uncomfortable, her total lack of laughing at her jokes had done so; brown hair veiling her face as her chin ducked in embarrassment. The thing is Fatin did think she was funny… in a total dad humour kind of way. But for the most part she was still too busy digesting the situation -and this girl who she apparently was attracted to- to respond in anything but a manner that made her come off as a total and utter asshole. 

Before she could reply the girl had grabbed her bag, walking straight out the door and having left her with an entire pack of ibuprofen and a spare tampon and pad. 

Who the fuck was she? 

Fatin kicked herself that entire day, brain fading as she watched the teacher talk about a random equation she was devoid of interest in. 

All that was left in the hollows of her mind was a lanky brunette with eyes so intense she felt herself squirming whenever she thought about them. 

One month later she found out her name. 

An exert of a story she had submitted to a national writing competition sat plastered there alongside a -truly awful, seriously what were school photographers thinking of that angle? Christ- photo of her face. 

Fatin did not -did- place that paper in the bottom drawer of her bedside cabinet, where she would remain mystified over the comfort it brought her even if she never looked at it.

She forgot about her mostly for the next year; absorbed in cello and exams she could barely keep up with around throwing herself into parties. 

There was no shame in having a healthy sex life. But what there was, was a toxic side to it she hated to admit existed in the peripheral. 

Sex with strangers and random guys from school was easy. There were low expectations, no commitment, and she didn’t have to consider how the hell to fit anything stable and constant into her already overflowing schedule. 

However, after she found her father to be cheating, she threw herself deeper into that sea of sex and alcohol to the point there were warning lights going off left, right, and center; that she chose to ignore.

He had devastated her family. Fatin’s mother had been completely broken by the news, barely eating even now. Initially, she assumed her mum would bounce back, but alas, Fatin still awoke every day to her mother looking growingly tired and frail; splotches of purple circled beneath her eyes. And if there were two things Jadmani’s weren’t it was tired and frail. They were bold, strong, picture perfect. 

That picture-perfect image had been what crumbled both Rana and Fatin. Not wanting to publicise what he did, they both remained quiet, citing an amicable divorce even though it was anything but. They still posted pictures of him with her brothers like he wasn’t a total home wrecker and she hated it. He didn’t deserve the saved face. 

He deserved to be ridiculed. 

With time, Fatin became like a mother to her brothers; a second hand when Rana fell short of energy. She packed their lunches and often took them to clubs. Ran herself half dead just to keep them from suffering too. 

Her brothers deserved the childhood she was given, just with less cello stress thrown into the mix. They deserved to have their biggest worries being when the new Star Wars film would be out, or the fact they forgot their homework. Small, manageable things. Not their world turned upside down when they were too young to even fully grasp it. 

From the ordeal, she was drained and had taken it upon herself to relinquish her stress to booze and guys each weekend night -and occasionally weekdays- when she snuck out at three AM. Her mother was always too gone to even notice. 

She was now seventeen and relishing her final year in high school. Through alcohol.

“Woah, okay, you’re okay.” 

Steady hands gripped her waist preventing her from falling over after she had collided with a solid form. 

Fatin looked up, squinting as her drunken, blurred vision settled slightly, a hand reaching up to a worried face. “Tampon girl?” She grinned. God, she was hot. 

“Sorry what?” 

“You lent me a tampon,” Fatin slurred. “And drugs.” 

“Maybe don’t phrase it like that at a party?” Leah chided. “And it’s Leah. Rilke. Not tampon girl, please do not make that a fucking thing. I’ve gone most of my high school life without a truly shit nickname, and I’d prefer to keep it like that.” 

Fatin ran her hand along a pale cheek again, grinning as Leah struggled to hold her up. “Tampon girl sounds cool though.” 

“In what world would that be cool?” 

“Would you prefer 'my drug dealer'?” 

“Dear god.” She groaned. “Please just use my actual name.” 

“Ugh, Rilke, you’re killing me.” 

Leah bit her lip at that, supressing a smile. “You’re incredibly drunk. How about you give me your address and I can drop you home?” 

“Too far to walk.” 

“That’s why I’m sober and have a car.” 

“Who is sober at a party?” 

Leah frowned but shook it off. “People who want to get home in one piece, or enjoy the night without the repercussions of a hangover. Believe me, I do not need a repeat of last year.” She laughed coldly but didn’t go into any sort of explanation. “Now come on. I know we’re not friends but it’s probably safer I take you home then some dude.” 

“But some dude may get me laid.” 

Leah shook her head instantly, helping Fatin to stand. “Not like this you’re not.” 

The scenery began to blur around her into a haze of green bushes and tarmac that spun below her, the weight of a hand on her back providing a steady comfort she seriously needed. 

“Please don’t throw up in here, I’m not insanely rich and detailing costs a tonne.” A paper bag and a bottle of water were thrust into her hand. “Drink. You need to hydrate.” 

“Yes, Mum.” 

Groaning, Leah started the car, Fatin swaying as nausea rose. 

“Drink.” 

“Fine.” 

Sliding the lid off, she sloppily brought the bottle to her lips, taking a sip that half missed her mouth; proceeding to dribble down her chin much to her mortification. 

Leah followed the address given, albeit after a lot of questioning when Fatin kept changing her mind on the zip code. “We’re here.” A hand pressed down on her chest before she could get up. “Nu uh, finish the water first.” 

“I’m totes fine.” 

“Great, then you can finish the water.” 

“Such a bitch.” She muttered under her breath, Leah obviously hearing as she let out a quiet sigh in response. 

Fatin pressed the bottle back to her lips, slowly sipping in silence for the next five minutes until she was done. 

“See, not that hard, hey?” 

“Fuck off.” Fatin shoved the bottle back at her but smiled lazily. “Goodnight tampon girl.” 

“Oh my god, stop.” 

She saluted her, staggering out of the car and up her driveway like Bambi on ice. 

Fatin barely remembered the interaction the next day. The hazed memory only being jostled into her mind when she saw a picture on her phone she took without Leah (or herself)  noticing. The slightly pixelated imagery of silken hair lit under lamplight as she drove; concentration devoted to the road ahead. 

Leah apparently, forgot entirely. That or she simply didn’t care. 

It was a concept she couldn’t understand, walking through the halls next day and seeing her there, wearing a cute ass crop top with a Lana Del Rey tote slung over her shoulder. A scrawny kid walked beside her, too in Leah’s personal bubble for Fatin’s liking. Almost like a fly glued to a wall. 

But as she passed, Leah briefly took note of her before her face dropped as she completely averted her gaze like Fatin had done something absolutely unforgivable to her. Then again, maybe she did. 

Her memories of the prior night were unfinished puzzle pieces at best, a collection of images and moments that didn’t quite fit together like chunks were missing and devoid. 

Fatin’s stomach turned within her as she considered that; perhaps she had said something awful. 

Now, she is rarely one to ever overthink let alone fixate.

There had been one guy; a supermarket worker with hazel brown eyes and floppy hair that worked the till, who had caught her attention at fourteen. She had assumed it to be love, burning and intense even though he didn’t even know who she was. (He was also far too old for her, so probably for the best.) But as it fizzled away Fatin understood it for what it really was. Hormones. Innate attraction to his physique. It was basic chemistry. 

So that was the box she shoved Leah Rilke in. Basic chemistry. There was no need for a relationship. 

None at all.

Fatin did not do social constructs such as relationships, she did quickies and fleeting like it was her brand. The girl should really be sponsored by the local safe sex clinic because Fatin was the posterchild for such matters. 

However, all boxes at some point break open. 

She should have known better than to think that flimsy mental cardboard could protect her heart from Leah Rilke.

Chapter Text

Fatin POV

It was a month later that she noted Leah Rilke’s schedule had patterns. 

Fatin’s schedule had changed, and she found herself passing through the outdoor path that wound around the green there each day nearing lunch. It was the quickest way to the canteen whilst avoiding the flurry of loud nerds escaping from the science department just as she got out. Had anyone dared suggest -as a cello virtuoso with a big mouth- she was also technically a loud nerd; she would have strangled them in her perfectly manicured grip. 

Due to this change, she was greeted with different views. Such as Leah sat there, sun drenching loose waves as she lay reclined on her elbow, the other holding a book that Fatin took a deep interest in. There was something so effortlessly calm about Leah Rilke reading that wasn’t there when the girl was forced to converse, almost as if the words on the pages before her silenced the raging voices of her mind, albeit momentarily.

It meant Fatin took great interest in the thing that had such an effect. A book that changed each week like clockwork. 

The first week it was Virginia Woolf’s ‘To the Lighthouse.’ The second it was Steven King’s ‘It’. The third it was  ‘Crier’s War’ by Nina Varella. The fourth was ‘The Jasmine Throne.’ The fifth was certainly more interesting than the rest, ‘A Homosexual History.’ And the sixth ‘We Are Okay’ by Nina LaCour. 

Fatin had searched for the book in question every week, pulling up the title on her browser. In truth, she rarely read herself and had no intention of starting, yet she searched, found herself on a site called Good Reads, and read reviews as something became strikingly apparent. 

Leah Rilke was reading an awful lot of queer literature. That was gay right? 

Deciding it wasn’t completely creepy, Fatin observed; briefly. Let her eyes roam her whenever she passed knowing Leah was too absorbed in a book to notice. The corner of her mouth turned up only just as she watched her press the glasses back up the bridge of her nose when they retreated too far down. Studied as Leah sat in her bubble, completely unaware of the game of basketball with cafeteria cups and meatballs that were happening beside her. No, Rilke was often completely removed from the society around her. 

Oddly that was something Fatin found comfort in. Though she was popular it was all a mirage. Money and a great jawline bought you an awful lot of power in certain circles at this school. However, those people that dangled over her at lunch, those people she fucked in unlocked bedrooms at parties or ranted about some reality show to were just there at face value, a glass pane that would shatter around her if a single word was spoken about her or her life. 

She had spent her time in schooling never truly fitting in, too busy to form actual friendships. Colby was her closest friend but that was still volatile, only holding up as long as she attended his parties and stroked his overtly large ego.

Which meant she understood Leah in a sense and found a kinship in her absence of socialisation. Craved it -her- in a way she couldn’t vocalise other than through one word:

Comfort.

It was a longing for comfort, a sense of home and belonging that led her to a small bookstore that day. One that she had spotted on a drive through a more remote town the other year in search of the out-of-season pink Gucci bag line. For some reason, the store had remained there in the recesses of her memories as if she knew it would be required one day.

A tattered sign hung above the small hole-in-the-wall store reading, ‘The Forgotten Book Store.’ 

As Fatin entered, she realised that name was truly apt. 

Books sat staggered against the walls precariously where they had run out of shelving space, some littered the floor like discarded cigarettes and others were displayed in glass casings like Holy Grails. 

The store was musty with that distinct smell of books. Flickering, yellow candelabra lamps lit the place and a small table sat in the one open space in the corner, with a couple of board games and weathered oak chairs sitting around it; appearing often used. 

“The kids use it for D&D.” An elderly woman popped up from what Fatin could now see was a till, masked by yet more stacks of books and a display of random bookmarks and pin badges, no single one matching another. Oddly eclectic.

“Sorry… D and what now?” 

“It’s a game. Dragons and all that fantasy malarkey. I tried to play once but my brain couldn’t keep up with the sheer amount of dice involved.” 

“Ahh.” Fatin paced awkwardly; she was greatly out of her depth here and rarely talked to older people let alone literature nerds. The combination of the two that stood, hunched over in a knit brown cardigan before her was beyond perplexing. People who wanted to hold actual conversations around subjects not pertaining to celebrities or social media were most certainly out of her zone of comfort. 

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you look as if you stepped here in error. We don’t often get…” 

“Muslim girls?” Fatin joked. 

The woman barked out a laugh, adjusting her glasses. “I was going to say refined women, people with handbags that probably cost more than this bedraggled store.” 

“Ahh,” Fatin grinned. “Yeah. In all truth, I’m not sure I’m meant to be here either.” It was daunting, to say the least.

“Then may I ask why you are?” 

She paused, taking stock of the situation she had found herself in. It hadn’t really been a conscious decision, more so a rapid succession of thoughts that were suddenly there, and her body had just acted, driving her here to where she now stood out like a -super hot- sore thumb. 

“I’m looking for a gift.”

“I see, for a family member or a friend, perhaps a boyfriend?” 

She frowned, not entirely sure Leah Rilke fit into any of those categories. 

“No, just a girl.” 

The woman smiled. “Someone you wish to be more than just a girl?” 

Fatin groaned. “This is feeling very twenty questions right now,” She noted, folding her arms when the woman only scrutinised her further with a raised brow. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t, I don’t honestly know. She’s just had my back a few times and even though we don’t know each other I thought it would be nice to…”

“Is she a reader?” 

“Yes. The bitch practically devours books.” 

A cackle of laughter punctuated the air again. “Do you have a list? Things she’s read or that you had in mind?” 

Fatin swallowed. She did have a list and hoped that Leah had read none of the titles on it. Reaching into her rear jeans pocket she pulled out the worn Post-It note and handed it over, the woman offering a smug smile as she adjusted her glasses all too knowingly. 

“You’ll want the queer books section, down there, on your right. They’re marked by preference.” 

She nodded, weakly taking the note back from her grasp. “Thank you.” It was oddly calming being here even though she felt so out of her natural habitat. This monstrosity of disorganisation and dust. There was something warming about it, the way it made her feel so small in a world so big. Like it didn’t matter so much if she found her place here or not. 

Her hands perused the shelves, fingertips brushing along spines of books old and new as she settled into the section. 

They had a collection of the titles she was looking for, and many she hadn’t seen on any of the sapphic book recommendation videos and lists she had spent hours upon end flicking through. 

Her fingers stilled on one in particular; ‘Watch Over Me’ by Nina LaCour. Fatin had noted Leah reading one of the author's other works and prayed she hadn’t read this one as it was the most recent to be released. 

The hardback weighed heavy in her hands, a pastel blue cover with a woman and flowers flowing through her hair like a river of floristry. As she opened it the endpapers were beautiful, floral, and pastel-toned too. There was something intrinsically poetic about it. 

“I’ll take this one please.” Fatin gently placed it on the counter, also grabbing a floral bookmark that just happened to match perfectly. “And this too.” 

“She’s a lucky girl you know.” 

“What?” 

“It’s not every day a stranger buys someone a book they’ve put thought into. You should consider adding notes to it. An ex-girlfriend of mine did that once, stole my heart away so much that I failed to notice she was an asshole for a wild six years.” 

“Are you saying I should write notes in this to hide the fact I’m an asshole?” 

The woman placed her items in a paper bag. “No, I’m saying it’s a good way to win over any book lover over.” She paused. "But if you are an asshole I would suggest it's an added bonus."

“Noted.” Fatin smiled, taking the bag. “Would that mean I have to like, read it?” 

That got a much louder laugh, so much so the woman fell into a heavy smokers coughing fit. “Unfortunately, true love makes us suffer in the strangest ways.” 

“I don’t love h…” 

“You never know, you may enjoy it.” 

Fatin highly doubted that but smiled politely before leaving. The whole ordeal felt like something out of Halloween Town. 

She did read the book. Unlike Leah, it took her two weeks, and this book was fairly short. Purely because she left it sitting on her bedside cabinet, glaring at it like it would burn her for an inordinate amount of days.

Eventually, she cracked it open, making her way through page after page in between parties and at times when she couldn’t sleep, a gel pen in her hand that pressed to the page anytime something took her interest or made her laugh, cry, or pine. It was ramblings, notes that would probably make no sense to Leah at all but felt like she was clearing her head, connecting to the words in a way that may not translate to anyone who hadn’t lived her life. 

Occasionally she doodled in the margins, and left song lyrics or sketches of flowers that occasionally bled into the page making her curse. 

It was rough, but it hopefully said thank you. 

The issue was that when it came to school the day after the annotations were finished, she realised she was in fact scared as shit. Heavy in her palm, the book was now covered in brown paper with messy scrawl that simply read ‘Leah, something to read on the green.’

It remained clenched there in her grip, her brain remembering what the woman had said at the store that Fatin was only a stranger, and dear god what if this was a cliché as fuck love note? 

Panic rose and she locked herself in a toilet cubicle, not caring if she was late for maths. No, she couldn’t give it to her. Not by hand. 

Her brain traversed ideas grand and wild as she considered what to do; throwing it out certainly wasn’t an option and she couldn’t donate the damn thing. 

Eventually, her help came in the form of a phone call. 

Her brother, Kemar, was sick and her mother was too busy to stay home. 

So, she left after being granted an early get out from last period. 

“Hey buddy,” Fatin chirped, looking at his dulled complexion. “Mind if we make a single pit stop on the way back?” 

“No, as long as it’s quick. I think I might need to puke again, and I don’t wanna puke in here.” 

“Okay.” Fatin smiled, driving the way opposite that of their house. She would make it quick, the last thing she needed was Kemar feeling any worse or the challenge of removing vomit from her leather interior.

She knew where Leah Rilke lived. At least she thought she did.

Leah wouldn’t remember it, but Fatin had driven through their neighborhood one day and caught a sweaty and mildly perturbed-looking Rilke and who she assumed to be her dad, trimming hedges in what she -seriously fucking- hoped was their garden. (They had done a questionable job of it.)

“Where are we?” 

“Nowhere special, just need to drop a book off for a friend.” 

“Oh, okay.” He swung his legs restlessly as she hopped out of the car, eyes peering around like she was dropping off a fucking bomb, quickly placing the book in the letterbox before lifting the small red mail flag at the side. “And I’m back. Did you miss me?” 

“Gross.” He was grinning though, Fatin driving as fast as she safely could to get him back when she saw him growing sweatier. 

Well, now she just had to wait. 

Fatin was totally fucking shit at waiting.

Chapter Text

Fatin POV

It was two angst-ridden days before she finally saw it. 

Fatin awoke, grumpy as shit. Her stomach was a concoction of angst -which until Leah- she rarely had to fucking deal with. All forms of anxiety had been drilled out of her by the age of eight, after five thousand cello recitals. Yet now it was there once again, welling up inside her in a way that made her want to vomit.

She detested the sensation with a passion; saw it as a weakness. 

Heading into the school that day she passed her in the hallway; Leah not even looking her way, too absorbed in a chemistry textbook. Brown locks curtained her face and she couldn't help but miss her eyes.

Perhaps she had delivered the book to some random human’s house? It could be in the hands of a curious toddler or gobsmacked -albeit confused- pensioner. Or there was the glaringly worrying chance that Leah had received it, had found the book, and was now fearing for her life over a clearly deranged stalker. 

Taking a settling breath, she slammed her locker shut, heading to the first period. 

It was after cello practice, as she retraced her daily path along the green that she saw it, clear as day. Breath-catching as she stopped still. Someone cussing as they walked straight into her back. 

“Watch where the fuck you’re going!” Fatin bit out. 

It was her book. 

Her fucking book sat in Leah Rilke’s palm; the ethereal blue of the cover matching the hue of her eyes in the sunlight. 

Panic and joy arose simultaneously, one not distinguishable from the other due to the nervous energy both brought. 

She was smiling, small but there, her hand rotating as she read what Fatin assumed was one of the notes in the margins. 

“Dude, people are trying to pass.” 

“You did not just ‘dude’ me?” Fatin yelled but began walking. If she stared any longer, she’d be grabbing all sorts of unwanted attention from God knows who. The last thing she needed was someone catching her staring at Leah Rilke like she was planning their wedding in her mind.

Her stomach was a mess of butterflies for the following few days; Fatin even getting to the point where her normal ‘extracurricular’ sex at parties was no longer filling the void it once did. Now the only thing that filled that void was seeing a small smile on Leah’s face each day at lunch; one she had put there herself. 

It’s how she once again found herself parking her car on a familiar road on a Thursday evening, having just dropped her brothers at soccer practice.

“Ahh, she returns.” A voice rasped from behind the desk. 

“You make it sound like I’m an unwanted case of chlamydia.” 

“I like you; you’ve got spunk.” 

Fatin winced, sometimes the older community really should learn how words are used modern day. 

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” 

“It was. It’s nice to know romance isn’t entirely dead with the kids these days.” 

“I’m not into her.” 

“Keep telling yourself that. You know where the section is. Run along.” 

Fatin frowned, feeling awfully like a scorned toddler as she made her way up the aisle to a familiar stand. 

She had less direction this week, though the same Post-It note sat in her hand, she was far less sure of her options. 

Her hands flicked through the newer covers. The LGBT+ section here seemed to have a greater variety of modern books than the others, probably because they were less published decades ago. Most of the other sections were laden with dusty titles with long-since yellowed page edges.

There was one cover that caught her eye, again due to the pastels. Muted greens and blues that perfectly matched the other book, but the main thing that caught her eye was the cover art. There on the cover sat a girl that looked remarkably like Leah Rilke. Shockingly so. 

Eyes perusing the blurb it began to fit even more. An Oscar Wilde ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’ retelling. Leah loved classics so it would hopefully meet some kind of standard to be inspired by one. 

“Ah!” The woman announced like she’d met her unborn child for the first time. “Oscar Wilde! Are you a fan?” 

Fatin laughed, raising a brow. 

“That was sarcasm dear. Gosh, my humour grows less and less relevant by the day. He was queer you know? Around in the 1800’s. Wrote some fabulous literature. This one is sapphic though, with gay male side characters I believe.” 

“Sounds perfect.” It did, Leah would hopefully love this. 

“Did you annotate the last?” 

Her face heated and she shrugged away the embarrassment. “A bit.” A lot. She had annotated most pages in the thing.

“Well, this one is nice and short so if one would happen to annotate it ‘a bit’ again, you could likely get it to her fairly soon. Not that you’re in a rush of course.” There was another knowing look that made her skin crawl. Fatin didn’t do love or romance; she could die quite happily with just this one sole woman knowing that she had such an embarrassing side to her. “Did she like it?” 

“I think so.” 

“You don’t know?” Fatin shrugged again, taking the bag. Leah had liked it, even if she would never get verbal confirmation. “Oh, to be young again.” She added wistfully. 

Fatin preferred this one. The story was more straightforward, the words easier to follow and as the lady had said; it was nice and short. The fewer pages the better in Fatin’s book. 

This time the annotations were more relaxed, less trying to sound poetic and more herself. On one page she had accidentally dropped a splash of coffee, circled it, and left a single line stating, ‘Sorry, repercussions of my morning fix.’ She couldn’t help but feel like the central character -a fairly awkward girl- was very much like Leah Rilke with her tampon dad jokes and nervous habits. 

She even left a receipt tucked between two pages. (Obviously, she had paid by cash.) A receipt for a donut that she circled with the note, ‘Entirely underwhelming don’t eat here, but the aesthetics are very tumblr chic for reading in.’ Leah felt like she would probably use a completely forgotten, edgy social media site over the likes of Instagram and such.

Again, the book had been dropped off in complete secrecy. This time on a day when she knew Leah was staying late for an after-school reading club. (She saw her through the door with the group on her way out.) 

‘To a book nerd, from obviously not Oscar Wilde.’

She had almost put, ‘one tired bitch,’ but that sounded far too much like Fatin. 

Placing it in the mailbox she quickly retreated once more, grinning away even as she brushed her teeth that night, knowing that another book would hopefully be in Leah Rilke’s hands.

This time it appeared the next day, held tightly in her grip as she walked through the hall again, not sparing Fatin much but a passing, fleeting, glance. 

It should hurt that she barely noticed her. Yet in a way, it was comforting to know that she had a way of being present in her life without the risk of abandonment. Or judgement. She was anonymous, and God knows the last person in this school anyone would expect to mysteriously annotate a book for them would be Fatin Jadmani.

When she walked by that lunch, Leah had her lip pulled between her teeth to suppress a smile. She was laughing to herself as she observed not the book in her palm but instead a flimsy piece of paper. 

The receipt. 

Leah either liked the sentiment or thought she was totally crazed, either way, Fatin wanted to see her laugh more than ever. 

“She’s back. So soon?” 

“Cut the shit.” Fatin rose a brow. “I’ll be down here.” 

“You know the books are feeling spoilt being visited this much.” 

Fatin choked back a laugh as she shook her head. The owner was annoyingly endearing. 

“You know,” A voice appeared beside her, taking in the chicken scratch scrawl on yet another note. “We got in some cloth-bound Sylvia Plath and Virginia Woolf; if she appreciates classics.”

An aged hand waved to a new section; one Fatin couldn’t help thinking was added simply because she shopped here, but that would be strange. Right? 

“She likes a lot of old shit.” 

The woman smiled, passing her a copy of a book titled ‘Orlando.’ “It’s perhaps one of the most beautiful love letters ever written.” 

“I’m not,” 

“Oh, I never said you were. Interesting you would jump to such conclusions on a whim though.” 

Fatin hated this woman. In a loving, familiar kind of way. She often reminded Fatin of herself; blunt, bold, and straight to the throat. 

“Regardless, it’s beautiful. And strikingly gay. Especially for the times. A work of art one would dare say.” She paused. “Also, not that you are interested in the mystery person, but clothbound books are the way to any literature lover’s heart.” 

“I’m not,” 

“Interested.” She finished. “I know, and I’m too old to know any better right?” She cackled, already heading back to the till.

It was with deep embarrassment that five minutes later Fatin was placing the cloth-bound book on the desk. 

The woman lowered her glasses, staring at the book with a humorous ‘hmm’. “Good choice.” 

“Clearly.” Fatin added a bookmark for the second time, a red velvet one that complimented the red cloth of the cover.

“How did she like the last?” 

“I wouldn’t know.” Fatin winced, taking the bag from her. 

“Well, perhaps one day you shall.” 

“Or I’ll like, die without her even knowing my name.” Fatin smiled, winking. 

“Youth of today are so pessimistic. Then again, the world has gone to shit I can’t say I blame you. I’ll let you in on a secret though, my parent's romance got them through a war and a depression. They were divorced when I was young because my father had a penchant for every flavour of woman that was not my mother, but alas, it served its time.”  

Fatin nodded along like she had any idea what was being said. “Yeah, my father screwed like half the town, so same I guess?” 

“Half the town? Impressive. Cisgender men really do outdo themselves as utter twats at times. They think with their member. It’s an awful shame they’re normally the ones in power.” She sighed. “Well, run along and annotate your ‘most definitely not’ a love note.”

“You know I can’t tell if I hate you or not.” 

“I do try.” The woman clapped once and beamed as if Fatin had just given her the biggest compliment ever. 

“Thank you.” Fatin offered a small smile back. She couldn’t hate her if she tried. 

It took Fatin weeks to annotate this one. Luckily, she had only given Leah ‘Epically Earnest’ recently, so she had time to spare. 

In truth, it wasn’t a long book, far from. It was just so mind-numbingly boring to Fatin, which is exactly why she knew Leah would fucking love the thing. The book had about as much intrigue as the ingredients list on her foundation and the words were so old that she felt herself aging as she read them. She did in fact, include those truths in the annotations hoping it would make her laugh. Though really, she would most likely end up aghast over the revelation. 

This time she included a receipt from a cinema viewing of the new Minions film her brothers dragged her to. (She would not admit she loved it.) 

'8/10 There were too many yellow things in dungarees for my liking. Popcorn was shit and overpriced. The Tango blast rocked my fucking world though.'

She also included something new this time. A photo of a cute dog she saw on a skateboard, printing it out and wedging it between the pages. 

‘Almost took this fucker home the other day. I realise dog theft is illegal, but the temptation was still there.’

It was so stupid. Beyond tacky and that’s another thing she hoped would make Leah smile. Bearing in mind this was the girl with the seriously cringe tampon jokes. 

No, Leah would hopefully love it.

Chapter Text

Fatin POV

Fatin’s eyes were filled with sleep and blotchy, days prior mascara when she went to deliver the next book, on a weekend morning at four AM. 

Now, most people would wonder who the fuck was up on a weekend at four AM, but Fatin simply couldn’t sleep. Her mother was doing better now, but the evening prior she had caught her crying as she held a mug of chai. 

It made her question if she was truly doing better or perhaps had simply gotten better at hiding the pain that was previously so evident, written across tired features and slumped postures. 

So yes, she had spent the night listening out for her brothers in case they needed a midnight glass of milk or a snack, as the last thing she needed was them waking Rana as she slept. 

Fatin hadn’t slept so she was rather overly emotional. Sue her. Fatin was a mopey, clingy mess of a human when she didn’t sleep. As a result, she had ended up here, a well-manicured hand slipping a book silently into a familiar letterbox. 

What she hadn’t expected was a letter, stuck by sticky tape to the side of said letterbox that read, ‘To My Reverse Book Thief.’ 

Peeling it off, Fatin quickly made her way back up the road and towards her car. 

The letter practically burned a hole in her passenger seat; sat there like a ticking timebomb as she tapped her acrylics against the steering wheel impatiently. 

When she made it home, she bolted up the stairs. Her legs carried her faster than they ever had before until she was jumping onto her bed and laying, staring up at the beautiful loopy handwriting on the front of the envelope. 

The envelope itself was so eccentrically Leah. Of course, that bitch owned a posh ass letter-writing set like a woman in the 1920’s wanting to write to her husband away at war. The envelope was embossed with a wax seal on the reverse, holding it shut.

It smelt faintly like perfume, only just but enough that her heart clenched. 

Gently prying it open she peeled out the paper inside, holding her breath. 

‘Hi, 

I don’t know what to say in truth. This is a completely wild predicament I never saw myself facing. (Not that I’m complaining.) 

The first book was great, I love Nina LaCour’s works but hadn’t read that one yet so thank you. Reading your notes left me smiling like an idiot. 

The second I hadn’t actually heard of but enjoyed even more than the first. I’m weak as hell for retellings and Oscar Wilde, so that was ‘epically’ awesome to read. 

Leah had crossed out the pun, but Fatin ran her thumb over the ink there, smiling at the joke.

I don’t want to assume anything, but you’ve sent me two books about queer women, is it fair to guess you’re sapphic? 

Fatin swallowed at that, gulping. Yes, it was fair to assume that apparently. 

I’m not sure if we go to the same school but you should say hi sometime; if you’re comfortable doing so. I’d love to thank my mystery book fairy, who apparently has seriously great taste in literature.

Sincerely, 

Leah Rilke (But I’m assuming you already knew that, right?)'

Fatin gulped, clinging the paper to her like a vice. 

She had liked the books. Enough to leave her a note at least. Then there was the issue.

‘you should say hi sometime’

Fatin would not in fact, ‘say hi sometime.’

No, as much as she hated to admit it, when it came to Leah Rilke she was a complete and utter coward. All her life she could never relate to those girls in twee and gushy romcoms, and now here she was, laying in bed hugging a bit of paper? Hell no. 

She carefully placed it in the draw where all those years ago she had stashed the school newspaper with Leah’s article away in. The drawer felt like a safe almost, as if she could somewhat lock away her emotions for the girl as soon as she placed these damn tokens within it.

It was totally fucking cringey, unhinged perhaps, but she couldn’t help but find comfort in it. 

Especially as her mum spiralled again that week. 

Fatin was drained, so insanely tired that she’d had three shots of coffee to start her morning and was now overly antsy as she walked up the hall, heart beating so rapidly from the presumable caffeine overdose that she tucked away into the toilets. Leaning over the sink, she took a deep breath, head shooting up when a stall door opened in what she had wrongly presumed was an empty room. 

“Uh hey?” Leah Rilke peered up at her. “Do you uh, do you mind if I use that sink? It’s the only one where the water isn’t freezing as shit.” 

“Oh, sure. Sorry.” Fatin dropped her head, wiping a tear as she moved from the sink and headed towards the stall before a hand caught her arm. 

The contact made her only want to cry more, it was so fucking perfect, and Leah would never know what it meant to her. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m like totes fine.” 

“You’re crying.” 

“I don’t cry.” 

Leah laughed at that, raising a brow. “The water on your face would say otherwise but okay. I never saw a thing.” 

Swallowing the lump in her throat she dropped her chin. “Yeah. Thanks.” It was muttered sarcastically, an innate reflex in her to do so.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I promise it was a joke. A really obviously bad joke because you’re crying more and shit, sorry I didn’t mean to point that out again, crap.” 

Fatin frowned, worried that she was messing up yet another interaction with Leah. At least she would remember this one fully. 

“You didn’t. It’s fine. I’m just gonna go die now if that’s cool?” She offered a smile, but it must have come off as bitchy or false because Leah was looking like her soul had left her body. Fatin hated that she made her feel like that. Worried. Embarrassed. 

“Yeah that’s cool,” Leah replied, voice monotone as she grabbed her bag. “Bye.” 

Jesus, why couldn’t she talk to this girl like a normal fucking human? 

“You’re back. I thought I had lost you to The Amazon.” 

“It’s just ‘Amazon’.” Fatin corrected, face apparently giving away her distress because there was no witty retort. “What book says even though you don’t know me I’m sorry for being a total cunt?” 

She released a breathless laugh, already walking to the shelving. “Well, nothing quite as specific as that, but,” A hand pulled out a couple books. “Perhaps something that would make her laugh? And that top one is fairly on theme, in all truth.” 

“Cow Girl?” 

“It’s a small village, farming romance. Been a long while since I read it but made me laugh. It sounds like she could do with a smile after you were an ass. Women are very forgiving though; especially when literature is involved. Maybe get her something to go with it though? Literature lovers are big on charming but subtle gestures.” 

“Like what?” 

“I don’t know, why am I the one doing all the work to piece together your love life?” 

“I’m not,” Fatin stopped when she saw the elderly woman waiting with a smug grin. “Fine. Maybe I am.” 

“My word you admitted it before my death? I was sure by the time you came around you’d have to whisper the fact to my gravestone.” She smiled. “Don’t young queer women love plants? One of the girls in the D&D group shows up with a new one she’s just bought each week. I’m beginning to wonder if she lives in the jungle or just has an innate talent for foliage murder most foul.” 

“Plants?” 

“Yes. Green things. Come from a wild concept called nature.” 

“Such an ass.” Fatin grinned, handing over the money. “Thank you.” 

“No problem. I take it that you have now talked to her?” 

“In passing. Didn’t go well… was a pretty shit day.” Fatin admitted. “I got a letter back though. Not that she knows who she wrote it to, but it’s something I guess.” She wasn’t sure why she was telling her this. 

“That’s progress of sorts. Maybe write her one back?” 

“I’m not great with words and shit.” 

“Thus spoke the girl who has been annotating books for weeks on end.” She paused, taking her glasses off her face so that they hung by the chain that wrapped around her neck. “It’s not about sounding like a poet; it’s about the effort. No one is expecting to be wooed by Shakespeare. From what people say he was quite the unlikeable little shit at times.” 

“Thank you. You know, for the free therapy session and book.” 

“Any time, except after five my cats need feeding and they’re rather brutal when hungry.”

The plant shop -Fatin decided- did not bring her the same comfort as the hole-in-the-wall bookstore run by the sarcastic elderly lady. 

For one, the owner was a bitch, and as a self-proclaimed bitch herself she could sniff other bitches out like a well-trained truffle pig. 

The bitch had the audacity to question her on plants as if she knew a single thing about watering and light placement. What did that even mean? Then, after turning her nose up when she had stated it was a gift, had proceeded to judge her choice. 

“Are you sure you want that one? They don’t flower.” 

Fatin was sure she wanted this adorable fucking ‘Pothos’. For one, the fact it had no flowers is why she loved it, Leah Rilke hardly screamed ‘I love flowers.’ Greenery, however? Yes, that felt very Rilke. 

“I’m sure.” She stated bluntly, leaving no room for reply. 

“Enjoy your gift.” 

What the hell crawled up her ass and died? 

This time, upon delivering the book and plant -at once again, an inhuman hour of the morning- she found yet another note. 

She had left her own letter replying to Leah’s inside the book, placing it in the mailbox. 

‘Leah, 

Obviously, I know who you are (not in like, a creepy stalker way though.) (Shit that made me sound like a creepy stalker, right? Like that’s exactly what they would say?) 

I just wanted to make you smile. Life’s been a bit hectic and seeing you reading here and there brightened up my day. I figured I'd try and brighten yours back. 

If it’s okay I’ll remain secret, I prefer life in the shadows. (Fuck that really was full stalker.) 

Hope you like the book and this small little guy I found the other day; someone told me that plants make a great gift for gays. (Not that I’m saying you’re queer.)

Yes, I think I’m pan? Still working it out, a recent revelation, I guess. 

Enjoy the book, 

Joe Goldberg (That was a seriously stupid joke I apologise.) 

Mystery Book Gal

Tucking the plant neatly under the mailbox she quickly ducked behind a hedge when Leah’s room light flicked on, curtains still drawn. 

“Fuck, she’s really gonna make me crawl at five AM?” God her manicure would suffer from this. 

Squeezing her eyes shut in mortification, she did in fact crawl for a bit before taking off walking to her car at a high speed. This definitely felt far too stalker-esq for her liking.

Chapter Text

Fatin POV

Again she found herself in bed, this time almost too scared to open the letter. Her hands trembled and she narrowed her eyes at it. 

“Get it the fuck together Jadmani.” 

She was better than this. 

With a quick exhale she gently tore open the envelope. 

‘Dear Mystery Book Bringer, 

YOU DIDN’T LIKE ORLANDO? 

I’m shocked, appalled, disgusted. Just kidding, though I am now questioning your taste in literature as this was a stunningly beautiful read. How could you not want to cry after that? I was a feral mess but in a good way. If that makes sense? 

Also, the cover is beautiful. Please stop spending your money on me though. Buy something for you, like I don’t know… maybe not a classic? 

I’m also pissed you didn’t commit dog theft. Seems like a wasted opportunity on that cute little guy. Then again perhaps I shouldn’t put encouragement for theft in writing. The police may find it and realise they’re barking up the right tree. 

Oh dear god. Fatin chewed her lip to supress the grin. 

That was tacky right? Totally. My bad. This letter was meant to be intellectual and instead, it’s more so ramblings of a sleep-deprived mess. 

Anyway, thank you for (another) book. 

It was really something. 

Hope you’re having a good day, 

Leah 

Fatin wiped the tear from her cheek. She was only crying because she was due on her damn period. There was no evidence she was grossly romantic whatsoever. 

None. 

Except for where the ink blurred from where the first tear had fallen, the blue seeping into the paper around it like a small ocean. 

That week Leah once again had her book in her hand. The copy of Cow Girl remained in her palm for most of the week, the red bookmark she bought for Orlando wedged deeper between the pages each day. 

Fatin had annotated that one easily; romance apparently was a fairly enjoyable read for her. (She still wouldn’t choose to read at all if it weren’t for the sole reward of Leah grinning away at her annotations.) 

Though, she never spotted her letter or obviously, the plant. Fatin couldn’t help but hope they made her smile as much as the book. 

Later in the week, she noticed that she needed to get another book; knowing how long it took her to annotate Orlando, she probably should have been at the store the day she dropped the other one off. Then again, she didn’t want to come off too keen. Or rich… that would probably narrow down Leah’s choices if she was playing a game of stalker guess who. Then again being rich in their school was hardly a stand-out.

Fatin parked, tugging her denim jacket over her shoulders as she headed up the road and into a tiny store.

“Ahh, it’s you!” 

Rolling her eyes, she walked further into the store stopping at the till. 

“Isn’t it always? Does anyone else ever come in here? It’s always got this air of crickets.” 

“Always the charmer dear. Speaking of which, my very eligible granddaughter is working today. Not that you’re queer... Or looking.” 

“Are you trying to set me up?” 

“Well, it was worth a shot was it not? Finding fellow queer folk is hard, and my granddaughter is quite the bisexual disaster.” 

“Did I just hear you calling me a bisexual disaster?” 

A girl carrying a stack of books taller than her head placed them on the desk, eventually looking up as Fatin met blue eyes that were all too fucking familiar. 

Shit, karma was fucking her over this week. 

“Fatin?” Her voice broke as she spoke, Leah curling in on herself slightly. 

And Fatin? Fatin froze. Jaw hung open and eyes wide like a dear in headlights. 

When she finally did regain composure, she was so fucking scared that she just blurted out the first thing that came to mind, “Do you sell kids’ books here? My brother really loves Marvel.” 

Christ on a cracker. 

To top it off bookstore owner lady, who she was pretty sure she had called a bitch -to her face nonetheless- was apparently Leah Rilke’s fucking grandmother. 

How the hell were they related? They were like polar opposites aside from the love of books. 

“You two know each other?” 

“Same school.” Fatin croaked out. 

“Oh, well isn’t that something.” 

“What are you doing this side of town?” 

“She comes he-” 

“Got lost. Took a wrong turn. Figured I’d make the most of it.” 

Now the older lady was looking at her with a suspicion that quickly morphed into one of absolute delight. “We do sell children’s books. Leah can show you where they’re at. Actually, Leah, could you grab the ladder from out back first? I’m feeling rather frail today.” 

“Sure.” 

“So, you’ve been secretly wooing my granddaughter?” The woman peered over her glasses, sipping her tea as she made sure to keep her voice low. 

“No.” 

She rose a brow. 

“Fuck, fine, maybe. So what if I have? I didn’t know she was related to you or I obviously would have chosen another recluse bookstore.” Fatin whispered harshly. 

The older woman laughed, taking another sip. 

“This is honestly golden. A book-worthy plot some might say. Though many would deny that it would ever actually happen. Mind you I guess gays do flock together in small circles. Rather funny if you ask me.” 

“I didn’t ask you. And I’m sorry if I’m failing to find the humour in it.” 

“Leah works Tuesdays and Sundays here currently. I suggest you come in any other day if you wish to keep hiding behind the book stands rather than asking my granddaughter out.” 

“She hates me.” 

“Leah doesn’t have it in her heart to hate someone, certainly not someone she doesn’t know at least.” 

Well, that hurt like a bitch.

“Hey, did you want me to show you the children’s books?” 

“Sure.” Fatin gulped, shooting a look at Leah’s grandma. 

“I’m sorry if she tried to set me up with you. You’re like the fifth person this year and literally all of them have been straight girls.” 

“I’m not straight,” Fatin replied without even paying thought to it until her body froze with the cold fear that crawled through her veins. 

“Sorry, what?” 

Change the subject. “This one looks decent, my brother loves Thor. Men and their tools I guess, see a hammer and lose their shit.” 

“Yeah.” Leah was frowning, staring at her like she was trying to figure out if she was actually queer. 

“I’ll take this one.” 

“Not the gift people normally buy in this shop.” Leah’s grandma noted with a joking tone that Leah luckily missed. 

“Hm, that’s surprising.” Fatin practically snatched the bag off her when it was rung up. “Thank you.” 

“Will that be all dear? We have a great romance section if that’s your thing. First love? Or a good mystery, there’s one about this stalker that…”

“I’m good. Thanks.” Asshole. Should she be thinking that Leah’s grandma is an asshole?

Fatin practically ran out of the shop, head pounding even as she slumped down on her bed back home. 

This… was a total catastrophe of epic proportions. Had life not messed her around enough lately?

There were coincidences and then there was that skin-tingling sensation of fates at play that was seriously testing her. 

Sighing she proceeded to scream into her pillow for ten minutes. 

The next day; she went back. Of course, she had to go back. Firstly she wouldn’t put it past Leah’s grandma to track her down and yell at her to get her shit together, and secondly, the last thing she wanted was her saying anything to her granddaughter about specific purchases. 

“Well hello lady killer.” 

“I still hate you.” Fatin groaned. 

“Ahh yes, but apparently you love my offspring.” 

“Seriously?” Fatin folded her arms. 

“Oh yes, expect all the jokes at your expense now. The funniest part was after you left, Leah gave me a lecture on a copy of Orlando she had received. Anonymously would you have guessed? She didn’t mention the other things though, so I’m glad to know she’s still not above keeping secrets from me.” 

“What… what did she say exactly?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

“Yes. That’s obvi why I asked.” 

“Would you like a cup of tea?” 

“I’m actually,” 

“Sit down at the table over there Fatin, you look like you could do with a drink. Sadly, I can’t give you anything alcoholic. Legalities and all. You’ll have to manage with camomile.”

Fatin sat at the dusty D&D table, moving some of the games boxes that rested on top of it to the side so that Leah’s grandmother could set the tea down once she returned. There was something oddly comforting about the warm glow of the old lighting above and the worn green velvet that covered the decrepit wooden seating. 

Her leg bounced on a constant, anxious of the talk that awaited her. 

Was this the parental talk you always saw in movies? 

“Here, don’t drink it yet it’s hot. I did put a splash of cold in it though. Best not burn your tongue when you can’t even use that mouth to tell my granddaughter you like her.” 

She closed her eyes, pinching the skin between her brows. “Do you want to get all the jokes out of the way now?” 

“Oh no. That would be very lacklustre. I want to save them in my arsenal for when they’re least expected. More fun that way.” 

“You are nothing like your granddaughter, you know?” 

“Oh, believe me, Leah has one hell of a kick to her when she wants to. The girl is seriously smart and can scare the soul out of someone when she has a reason to. I would advise that you don’t get on her bad side. However, I will say it is incredibly hard to get on her bad side, you’d have to be an arch villain evil scientist or something.” 

“Noted.” 

“She gets the politer side from her mother. Her father is like me, crass at times; Maryann hates it. Gives me one hell of a laugh. I remember when I taught Leah to say ‘shit’, the woman just abouts had a heart attack that week when she made little Leah pancakes and the girl turned to look her dead in the eye and told her they were ‘burnt to shit.’ Maryann was shocked but as I stated, she used the word true to its meaning and we should encourage use of new vocabulary in children.” 

Fatin let out a laugh. “I can actually picture Leah doing that.” 

“Dare I ask why you needed to apologise the other day?” 

“I didn’t do anything. I don’t think.” She took a breath to centre herself. “More like I come across as a total bitch whenever I do speak to her because I’m anxious as shit and Leah,” 

“Takes everything the wrong way?” 

“Yes.” 

“She’s a worrier. Definitely Maryann’s genes that.” 

“I’ve noticed.” 

“But she also seems to be very intrigued by whoever annotated this Orlando book because they ‘have a nice brain,’ whatever that means. However, I would assume it means that maybe, just maybe, if you explained all this by writing it down instead of saying it to her face, she would still want to give you a chance.” 

“Leah doesn’t even know who I,” 

“Cello prodigy. Rich. Popular. New manicure each week. Loves to party, and I hear she once drove you home drunk which you were apparently quite unthankful for. Then again, I’m not sure what kind of manners Leah was expecting from someone completely pissed. She gave me a lovely run down after you left, seemed quite flustered in truth.” 

“Did she say anything else about… that?”

“No, and I’m guessing you don’t remember much?” 

“A little. But not much, fragments I guess.” 

“Well, she didn’t seem heartbroken or ruined over it so I’m assuming it was likely something small, not beyond recovery from.” 

“I think you underestimate just how much of an asshole I can be.” 

“Perhaps, but now I know who you’re buying books for, I can probably be of more help to right that.” 

Fatin sipped her tea, hand gripped tightly around the ornate bone china. “Thank you.” 

“Leah deserves something good in life, she’s had her issues. I would hope that something good would be you.” 

She was already rising, shoulder hunched slightly as she slowly made her way to a different shelf. “Leah doesn’t know we have this, but she would love it.” 

“The Selected Poems of Emily Dickenson?” 

“Leah loves the television series. Extremely queer.” 

“I haven’t heard of it.” 

“You should watch it. It’s a period drama of course but with modern alterations to the vocabulary and story to make it more relatable to a younger, modern audience. Quite fun if I do say so myself.”

“I’ll take this then.” 

Fatin went to pay, again adding a green bookmark that matched the cover alongside a small pin badge that read ‘dead poets society.’ It felt rather apt. 

“Leah loves pin badges.” Her grandmother noted. 

She simply rose a brow, smiling as she took the bag. “Thank you for the intel.” 

“Oh gladly, it’s always a joy to meddle in my granddaughters love life. She hates it. Such fun.”

“You’re seriously devious and honestly I respect that.” 

“Like appreciates like.” She muttered, picking up a stack of books. “You should tell her you know.” 

“In death maybe,” Fatin mocked.

Chapter Text

Fatin POV

Fatin ended up binging Dickenson in a few days. It was surprisingly addictive and in truth, she had rarely watched shows with queer characters. So, to see people who she realised now represented herself on television was rather therapeutic. 

She began annotating the poems throughout the anthology. Having watched the show the context was slightly more straightforward, but she was still at a loss for what they meant most of the time. (Something made strikingly obvious by her annotations that included a hell of a lot of question marks and ‘I don’t know what the hell this means but it’s kind of depressing.’)

There were some though that she understood. 

‘Hope is the thing 

with feathers that

perches in the soul,’

These she did annotate with a pause for thought, deeper and more emotively led than with the other novels passed on to Leah. 

‘My father is kind of an awful person. But I get this, that feeling that something good could once again come from something so ruined even if in actuality that’s not a possibility.’ 

And then,  ‘I’m a little closed off in life -don’t get me wrong I know how to have a shit load of fun- but it’s isolating. There’s not really anyone who knows me and that’s how I like it because if they don’t know me there’s this hope that I will continue to fit in. If people knew me too well, I think that hope would finally vanish. People prefer not knowing… I think they adore the concept of me dreamt into their heads rather than the truth of who I am.’ 

It was true. Fatin’s friends were there as a mirage of popularity, of fun, and joy. In truth, she knew none of them. Couldn’t tell you many facts about most of them other than where they liked to shop or their family's net worth. They certainly knew nothing about her, hell, many probably didn’t even realise she played cello or the fact she had brothers. 

It was deeper than she meant to get, and the other notes left were just as deep, though nothing that would give away who she was. 

Once again, Fatin dropped it off, after school this time; leaving it and the bookmark wrapped neatly in the now very familiar letterbox. 

Dropping this one off left fear welling in the pit of her stomach, crashing wave after wave of anxiety into her. It was brutally honest; but more so, it was her. Catharsis if you will. Leah would be the first person she told about herself, and her life; even if she never knew who she was. 

There was an anecdote of her childhood in there. Of when her mother got lost one day and they ended up having a milkshake in town for an hour whilst she figured out how to set up google maps to get them all back. 

She left notes about things she wanted: dreams of college life with less pressure. A need for a pet dog; preferably one she could dress up ridiculously for the holidays. She didn’t specify which holidays; there wasn’t exactly a huge Muslim community in her school, let alone queer Muslim girls Leah’s age… which meant stating that may have well put a target on her back. A huge blinking neon ‘It’s Me!’ sign waving over her head. 

The book appeared in Leah’s hand that week, and again she was holding a pen as she read it. The sun lit up the honeyed brown tones of her hair, and the green sweatshirt she was in matched that of the cover. 

Not allowing herself more than a glimpse, Fatin smiled, a small uplift of the corner of her mouth as she tugged her cello back up onto her back. 

There may be a lot of stress in her life, but seeing Leah -even if only briefly- meant more than Fatin could put into words. The thing was she never expected more from her, never wanted to say hello or encroach on Leah’s space because she didn’t want to disrupt her world. She just wanted to bring her a little joy each week, the same caring gesture Leah had offered her as a complete stranger twice before. 

Fatin went back to the store that weekend, on a day she knew Leah wouldn’t be there. 

“Well, well, well…” Leah looked up at her, chewing her lip. “Back for another copy of Thor?” 

Shit. 

“Your grandma isn’t working today?” 

“She’s sick.” 

That made Fatin pause. “Is she okay?” 

“Just a cold. She lives above the store if you want to run her a cup of tea.” Leah joked.

“What?” 

“Here’s the thing Fatin.” Leah put down the book she was reading on the desk. “I was doing inventory the other day, and it’s funny because we don’t really sell a lot of queer books here. The occasional one, sure. Imagine my surprise when I saw that we sold, in a weirdly familiar order, around one a week.” 

“I,” 

“My grandmother is definitely sneaky I’ll give her that, but the woman can’t lie for shit.” Leah rose a brow. “When she slipped up, said that you were in here the week prior, I decided to do some digging.” Leah frowned. “That wasn’t your first time here, was it? Last week?” 

“No,” Fatin admitted, throat dry. 

Leah pulled out a pile of books from behind the counter. “I’m not expecting an explanation,” she mumbled, picking at her brow, “but I annotated these back, figured you may want to read them.” 

Folding her arms across her chest she nodded. 

Dear God, how was this happening? It was absolutely mortifying. 

“Okay.” 

“I do have one question though,” Leah noted, “why me?” 

Well, that was quite the question, wasn’t it? There were a million ways to answer, none of which seemed to encapsulate everything in a way that made sense or would clarify why Fatin did what she did. In truth, she wasn’t entirely sure herself. It just happened. 

“You don’t expect anything of me,” Fatin spoke, reaching for the pile of books, “see you at school, Leah.” 

Leah didn’t get a chance to reply, Fatin’s back already turned as she walked out. 

She didn’t go home though. No, Fatin did the most embarrassing shit. 

Fatin went to the store for groceries. Grabbed some chicken soup, tomato soup, a variety of teas, and cold medication. 

Then she went right back to that stupid fucking store. 

“She lives above here, right?” 

Leah looked at her in shock, eyes wide and questioning as she nodded. “Door is the one next to this at the front. Just buzz.” 

“Ahh, my knight in audaciously posh armour.” 

“You look like shit.” Fatin grinned, taking in her paled face and crocheted blanket. She looked jarringly cute and frail for a woman with such a kick. 

“Well, you always do, at least I have an excuse.” The woman grinned back. 

“I brought you soup and things. You know the last thing we need is you sneezing too much, the vibrations would probably be enough to cave in that store for good. One book falls in there and it’s like musty Jenga.”

Barking out a laugh she fell into a coughing fit soon after. 

“Want me to heat up the soup?” 

“Please. The microwave is just over there on the kitchen counter.” 

The apartment was so uniquely her; filled with striking patterned pillows and rugs among plants and colourful artwork that adorned the walls. A Greek bust sat off to one side with a large grey cat lounging across it like a throne. Vanilla scented pillar candles stood, burning in a way that made Fatin itch to blow them out. (It felt like there were an awful lot of things here that would be incredibly flammable.)

There was something about it so homely unlike her own, cramped in a comforting way. Warm and inviting… A home rather than a place people simply resided in. 

“Here you go.” 

“Thank you. I take it you saw Leah?” 

“You mean your F.B.I agent of a granddaughter?” 

“She called you out?” 

“She did.” 

Leah’s grandmother broke into another fit of raspy laughter. “You know I’m surprised it took her so long. She’s been on inventory since she started here a year ago.” 

“Well, she’s certainly figured it out now.” 

“Did you work things out?” 

“No. She gave me some cryptic message about having annotated the books back then left the floor to me.” 

“And you?” 

“Were cryptic back, took the books then went to get you soup because lord forbid you were sick any longer it might make you more sarcastic than before.” 

“Come take a seat, I’m watching Jeopardy.” 

Shuffling awkwardly on the balls of her feet, Fatin sighed, eventually sitting down on the worn couch beside her. 

“You’ll be shit at this but maybe you’ll get the music questions. I’m always dire at those, though it did teach me who the Lady Gaga was.” 

Fatin as it turned out was shit as most of Jeopardy. However, she took Leah’s grandmother by surprise with the math and music questions. 

“Secretly a numerical genius.” 

“Math and Music go hand in hand.” 

They were more laid back now, episode after episode passing until it was far later than Fatin expected.

“Um hi?” Leah was at the door, a key dangling in her hand. “I take it you know each other well?” 

“Yes, Fatin here is a complete pain in my ass; a little shit if I’m being honest.” 

“Cut it out asshole.” Fatin bit back, both of them grinning. 

“This is so weird,” Leah whispered to herself. 

“I was just leaving, it’s probably her bedtime. Make sure you water her, or she gets dried out and catty.” 

“Just like you, dear.” 

Fatin narrowed her eyes at her with a grin. “Soup is by the sink. Don’t eat it all at once.” 

“Thank you.” Her grandmother went to get up, but Fatin waved her away, scared she was going to pass out if she moved too fast.

“Take care of her. She cheats at Jeopardy by the way.” 

“I do not.” 

“You’re literally watching recordings.” Fatin had got suspicious when she got a question on Eminem correct.

“I haven’t watched these ones for months.” She stated. “I’m old, I would have forgotten by the day after.” 

“Lies.” Fatin passed Leah, a hand resting on the doorframe. “I grabbed some flu medication too, ones that weren’t as strong so should be okay if she’s on other medications.” 

“Thank you.” 

Fatin tilted her chin, ducking out the door. 

“You could do worse than her, you know.” Fatin heard the voice as she walked down the stairs. “She’ll save you money on a carer too once I’m senile.” 

“Shut up.” Leah laughed back. 

Her chest warmed with a feeling of belonging wedged there that wasn’t present before. 

Chapter Text

Fatin POV

Fatin sat, staring down the stack of books that night like they were Pandora’s box.

“Why the fuck am I being so weird? Jesus.” She groaned, picking up the first. Surely Leah expected her to tackle them in order?

Book one it was. 

Watch Over Me by Nina LaCour.

‘I don’t know who you are but I hope one day this book will find its way back to you so you can smile too. The title seems oddly apt, I had a truly shit week. We lost my aunt last year and the anniversary was yesterday, so this appearing felt eerily right. Like the universe was aligning our paths or something, intertwined fates and what not.’ 

Fatin didn’t re-read the books; they were still fairly fresh in her mind. She did however re-read every word Leah underlined and every comment she wrote cramped in the margins, sometimes replying to thoughts of Fatin’s own. 

In the first book, both of their thoughts were honest but trying far too hard to sound poetic or not affected by the words in a truly personal manner. The comments were more so related to the language used than the story and their own emotions. 

Fatin still loved every word.

Book two was tugged into Fatin’s hand by eight PM. 

Epically Earnest by Molly Horan.

‘You’re right, she does have a weirdly odd resemblance to me.’ Leah wrote on the title page below Fatin’s comment. 

‘I don’t know if you’ve read ‘The Impossibilities of Being Earnest’ before but if not, you seriously need to.’

Fatin flicked the page, smiling at a doodle Leah had left of a poorly drawn baby in a Gucci bag. ‘I will say I am not an artist, but I think after seeing this sketch you’ve probably already realised that.’

She grinned at every sentence Leah highlighted from funny moments to romance scenes. ‘What do I have to do to get kissed by a hot girl at a party? I suppose I’d have to go to one in the first place which, ugh. Effort.’

Then amongst the cacophony of notes was a crap sketch of a bowling ball. ‘Why can’t I even draw circles? Fuck my life.’

Beaming she sunk her tooth into her lip. Fatin was in deep.

By eleven PM she had made her way onto the third.

Orlando by Virginia Woolf. 

This one hit her hard, heat welling in her stomach and chest tight with a want to kiss Leah because God was that girl poetic. She underlined parts Fatin had missed or not understood the meaning of like language that told other stories, hidden in context due to the time. 

Leah unspooled it, and broke down what things hinted to or implied so that Fatin could appreciate the story more. It was highlighted pages and full-page notes Leah had written and tucked between them. There were intricate drawings in the margins that actually were well done. Doodles in scratchy black ink of all sorts of things relating to the book. 

But then there was something new in this one. A polaroid photo of her lap,  the book visible in the foreground -open- and then her legs behind it stretched out across what Fatin assumed was Leah’s bed, a fluffy dog resting on them.

‘My dog Cthulhu, keeping my legs warm.’

Fatin squinted at the name, copying and pasting it into google. 

• Lovecraft transcribed the pronunciation of Cthulhu as Khlûl′-hloo.

She pressed the pronunciation, whilst there seemed to be many Fatin stuck with the easiest to say, but also the one that seemed to be what the author had intended. 

K- Luh- Loo.

Of course, Leah named her dog after some deep sea monster from a classic novel. Why was that so intrinsically her? 

‘He’s named after a character, though H.P. Lovecraft is problematic as fuck he did write some wild sci-fi and horror in his time. Shame he was a total prick.’ Leah wrote below.

Laughing Fatin stared at the photo in her hands, thumb brushing over it once. 

Carefully she tucked it between the pages and began reading again, the book riddled with notes.

By two in the morning, she had pulled Cow Girl from the pile, accepting that she could not sleep so long as there were books there with notes from Leah left unread. Fatin had tried for half an hour to close her eyes but instead ended up tossing and turning, flinging covers that felt too claustrophobic from her body before reaching for another. 

It was almost like the ring from Lord of The Rings was there whispering to her to come and find it, voice low and constant in the hollows of her mind. 

“Fuck it.” Fatin groaned, pulling it open. 

Immediately another polaroid dropped out. This one was a selfie of Leah in glasses, grinning next to a potted plant that appeared to be on a bookshelf, surrounded by books both unfamiliar and ones Fatin now sat surrounded by, strewn haphazardly across her bed. 

Leah’s mouth was pulled up in a tight-lipped, warm smile, her eyes darker on the exposure of the polaroid but still perceptively blue.

‘I named him Earnest. Seemed apt. I must admit I love plants but do occasionally commit foliage murder (please don’t go to the police, I don’t think they would beleaf you.)’

Fucking hell, why was Fatin grinning at the worst plant pun in humanity?

‘Though I promise to try and keep him alive. He’s named now so I’ll just feel all the worse if he does.’ 

She made a note to ask Leah at some point if the thing was still alive, should they ever speak again. 

Fatin gnawed on her cheek as she read the annotations in this one because this one was different. 

The mood had changed from thoughtful and poetic, joking and reminiscent to something more. Something almost romantic that had her stomach in knots. 

It was a romance after all, probably more intense than the others in the respect that the romance was the key plot, as was coming out. Returning to your hometown as a now very queer person. 

Fatin had left her note on one page. ‘I’m not really one for romance but sometimes I wish I was. That I could meet someone who I can share things with. Be me around but also be there for them.’

There before her was a fly-away comment she had made on little sleep, not realising the possible implications of such words. Yet now it sank butterflies in her stomach as her attention drew towards Leah’s reply.

‘Not one for romance? You’ve been annotating books for me for months. Are you insinuating that’s a friendship thing? Because I may have read it as something else. Not complaining, but if you were to say you did feel more, then yes stranger. You could most definitely consider yourself a romantic; like it or not.’ 

Then there was a note on another page. 

‘They’re kind of hot together, in like, a burning building probably need to work their shit out kind of way. Through like, wild sex or a seriously good argument.’ 

Her breath stopped as she read the comment below. 

‘Honestly, I guess I felt like that about this girl once. We hardly ever talked but I drove her home drunk from a party. Different social circles so it’s not like we’d ever talk but God was it weirdly hot arguing with her. Though she was straight, so typical right? Queer dork attracted to a straight popular girl. Nightmare. She was kind of high maintenance though so probably did myself a favour there.’

Fatin stilled, hands gripping the book tight. 

There was no way. 

And yet…

‘She was kind of high maintenance though so probably did myself a favour there.’

The rest made her face heat but that last line, nestled there like an afterthought struck her harder than she probably should have allowed it. 

Leah must have forgotten she wrote that. She was bold sure, but she would never intentionally leave an admission like that in there, surely? That she found Fatin hot in a burning ‘building glad I got out’ kind of way? 

There was also the fact that she was anything but straight. 

Maybe it wasn’t her? 

Then again, who else would it be? Fatin did make a point of portraying herself as a high-maintenance bitch to those around her. 

She just never wanted Leah to see her as such. 

Closing the book, she didn’t read the last.

In an attempt at burying the emotions that cascaded around her, she hid her head beneath her comforter and cried. 

It wasn’t just Leah. It was an amalgamation of everything over the past two years. 

Her father cheating then treating her like shit for telling her mother. She had seen him twice since; the man turning his nose up as he swung her brothers around with a joy that was no longer reserved for her. 

Fatin stopped seeing him after the second time; hadn’t really wanted to originally but her mother had asked her to try and didn’t realise how much he now hated his own daughter. He acted like she had committed the biggest betrayal, not him. 

Then it was caring for her mother that left her drained and exhausted beyond belief. Parties became something of a treat she rarely had time for. Instead, she normally went to bed, eyes heavy at one am after packing her brother's lunches for the next day, washing their football kits then ironing them and folding them in their bags. 

It was cello practice in any free time between and even grocery shopping when she noted the fridge was constantly bare. 

Rana was doing better now but Fatin still acted as a second parent; driving them to clubs and packing lunches. Attending some of the teacher-parent evenings her parents were working during. 

It was a lot, too much perhaps for a seventeen-year-old to deal with. 

The new role suffocated her and whilst she loved her brothers, it had left her emotionally and physically exhausted. 

Leah had been a reprieve. 

The girl so carefree who lounged on the grass, away from everyone and everything. Leah who didn’t judge her or make assumptions about her like the rest.

Fatin didn’t go to school on Monday. It was the first day she had taken off sick in longer than she could remember. 

She pulled on her pyjamas; the Pokémon ones her brothers had gotten her for Christmas that she only wore when she knew no one would see her. A massive purple splodge of a Ditto was pictured on the front with the word, ‘Ditto’ printed in bold beneath it.

Wiping the sleep from her eyes she poured a coffee and dropped her head as she waited for the caffeine to kick in. 

In truth, Fatin hated when the house was empty. Especially since her father had left, the place had felt too big, sterile, and hollow like it had lost the little soul it had. She feared her brothers could feel it too sometimes; the emptiness and shadows of memories that lingered in each room leaving a sour taste in her mouth. It was an echo of what their lives once were and a harrowing reminder that the whole thing had been a fantasy riddled with false truths.

No, it was all a bit too much now. 

And seemingly, not enough at the same time.

“Ah she’s back, don’t you have school today?” 

As soon as she heard the rasp of her voice and saw thick glasses perched on her nose as she placed a sticker on a book, Fatin felt herself being able to breathe again.

Chapter Text

Fatin POV

“Ah she’s back, don’t you have school today?” 

As soon as she heard the rasp of her voice, thick glasses perched on her nose as she placed a sticker on a book, Fatin felt herself being able to breathe again.

Fatin took in a shaky breath as the cosy smell of books centred her emotions. It wasn’t like her house here; sterile. It had warmth, love, and care. An electric fire rippled by the D&D area, sending heat through her bones. 

“Fatin?” The woman pried, taking her glasses off and letting them hang limply by the chain, the features previously behind them looking concerned for perhaps the first time. 

“What’s your name?” Fatin queried. 

“Edith.” 

“Edith.” Fatin let the name roll off her tongue, feeling aptly fitting. “Do you mind if I hang around today? I can help out if it’s needed. Just have some time to kill.” 

Edith summed her up, a confused glace turning into a softened smile. “Sit down, I’ll grab you a coffee. You look tired, kid.” 

Offering a slight nod Fatin moved to the comfy chairs that seemed more worn with each passing week. Initially, she had found this place peculiar, crowded, and too much. It was a mismatched assortment of clutter and chaos, books teetering on the edge ready to fall from precariously angled stacks at any point. It was the dice that remained on the table from the last game, character sheets spread across there with scrawled images of orcs and elves. And then there was the cat hair from Edith’s cats that apparently snuck in here upon occasion, how none had been crushed by an at-work injury around said dangerous book stacks was completely beyond her.

Yet now it felt like a solace, a second home. 

It was a comfort, a need to be swallowed by surroundings that left her at peace amongst the haphazardly strewn books and art prints. 

“You know I was going to shut the shop up this afternoon to bind some books. A hobby of mine. You’re welcome to help if you wish.” 

“You don’t have to do that for me.” Fatin eyed her. 

“I don’t believe I ever said it was for you, did I? Gosh the youth of today are always jumping to conclusions faster than Sherlock Holmes.” 

“Fine.” Fatin smiled. “Yes, I would like that.” 

Edith smiled. “Dare I ask why you’re not at school today?”

“I’m sick.” 

“Ah, caught what I had did you? So sorry to make you ill.” Edith offered sarcastically, knowing Fatin wasn’t the slightest bit sick, simply full of shit. 

“How are you now? Not that I’m worried, but a harsh sneeze could probably wipe this place out. Wouldn’t have to send for the fireman to pull you from the book rubble.” 

“What a way to go though, a woman in that job could manhandle me any day.” Edith chuckled. “I’m fine. A stranger who frequents here brought me some soup after confessing her love for my granddaughter, it was all very soap opera to be truthful.” 

“I don’t.” Fatin paused, glaring at that cocky grin. “Can we not talk about Leah today? Please.” 

Edith frowned but nodded, pushing a plate of biscuits towards her. “Eat, you’re looking frail. Lord forbid I sneeze and wipe you out too.”

If you asked Fatin where she would be this year, she certainly wouldn’t have said in a cobweb-ridden basement with an elderly lady holding a junior hacksaw. “You want to cut notches along the red lines, it’s where we will sew the booklets together.” 

“The red lines?” 

“Yes.” 

“What if I mess it up?” 

“We all have to learn somewhere,” She said, “I crucified many a book in my early days. When I was taught, Mr. Blake used to say, 'stories are not such without someone learning something along the way', meaning mistakes are meant to be made; life would be very bland if not. The man who taught me was gay, quite the worrying fact for a man of his day. We had a rather unspoken bond as it still wasn’t exactly that outspoken of a subject when I was young. Most of my girlfriends I had to refer to as friends or acquaintances. Not that it’s particularly great now, but things are far better.” 

“When did you know that you were queer?” 

“I saw Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s when I was a teenager, with a friend. It was quite the awakening I must say. Though the word lesbian was sparsely used then, let alone bisexual or pansexual or all these other terms we now have. I was just odd to my parents, never wanting a boyfriend. Men are such work.” 

That Fatin could agree with. 

“I met a girl named Alice when I was seventeen, my first ever relationship, I guess. It was all very secret; hushed whispers, and kisses when no one was near. I remember holding her hand at the beach once beneath a towel. All very wild for that time. Probably the equivalent of someone streaking into the ocean in broad daylight now.” 

Fatin laughed, running the saw along the spine of the book pages that were clamped together in a vice.

“Not too deep, about that. Just enough to puncture the last pages in the booklets so we can get the needle through.” 

When it came to sewing the booklets together, Fatin felt completely at ease. She hated manual labour and crafts but this was strangely therapeutic. 

“You’re welcome to use the workshop down here anytime, you know? Even Leah isn’t allowed down here, and you can access it through the parking lot behind if you’d rather evade my granddaughter.” 

“I’m not evading your granddaughter.” Fatin scoffed. 

“The lady doth protest too much.” 

“Fine, maybe I’m evading her. A bit.” 

“I guessed that by the fact you’d rather spend a day in a musty basement with a cranky old hag than go to school.” 

“She gave me the books back, annotated," Fatin said, "and there were so many notes I don’t think she remembered what was in there. In one she said some things about me that whilst like, pretty accurate, still stung like a bitch.” 

“Ahh, the downside to mysterious annotations.” 

“She thinks I’m high maintenance and kind of like a 'burning building'.” 

“Dear, you are high maintenance.” Edith cackled. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of. God, I dated one woman when I was in my twenties, needy beyond belief but lord did I crave it. The thing is Leah doesn’t come from money or popularity Fatin, and whilst it’s not fair to judge someone on their parents, her life will have been vastly different from your own. She wrote those annotations before she knew anything about you, child. Have you read them all?” 

“Not the last. I didn’t want to come across any other times I’d been a total cunt to her.” 

“Ah, well, maybe give it a go? Don’t let it bruise your ego, we all make snap judgements when we don’t know someone. It’s when we let them in that we find depth there beneath the surface.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Until then.” Edith walked to a small cabinet that hung on the far wall, the wood of which appeared long since intact. Splinters of the unit fell as she undid the bolt, reaching inside and pulling something gold out that she brushed heaps of dust off of. “Here, it’s a key for the back door. Don’t go stealing any books now.” 

“Because I’m such an avid reader?” 

“Clearly.” Edith smiled. “Now let’s move onto the guillotine!” 

“The what now?” 

It was therapeutic, spending the day gluing the binding and then working on the cover. Edith showed her how to size the board and how to attach it to the velvet cover, then showed her a computer that looked like it was from the 80’s that she used with a circuit machine to cut out the titles that then went on the cover. 

“You know, there’s a lot of PDFs online of old works that no longer hold copyright. Anyone is free to print them, there may be some vaguely queer ones on there if you want to edit them into a book.” 

Fatin mulled over it. If anything, it would keep her brain busy for a while. “Yeah, I’ll have a look.” 

It was dark out by the time she arrived home, her mother shooting a worried glance at her. “I was just helping out a friend’s grandmother.” 

“A friend’s grandmother?” 

“Yes.” 

“Fatin, if you’re seeing someone you can tell me.” 

Swallowing the lump in her throat she moved into the kitchen, putting the kettle onto boil. “I’m not.” 

“Well, regardless of what you say I haven’t seen you smile like this since that boy we met in the supermarket when you were thirteen; the one you declared you loved after seeing him once. I must admit we were quite taken aback; you had practically planned your wedding by the time we got home. I still remember your face when I told you he was an inappropriate age for you. You refused to speak to me for an entire week.” 

“God,” Fatin groaned, steeping the tea in the water and adding milk to two mugs that she brought over to the sofa, curling up at the opposite end to her mother. 

“Love isn’t all bad, you know?” Rana added, blowing on her tea as the steam rose across her cheeks in soft plumes. 

“Is that so?” 

“Yes. Regardless of your father being-” 

“A total cunt.” 

“Fatin. Language,” she chided. Though a smile lit up the corner of her mouth. “Regardless of your father making superbly awful choices, the time we had together before all this... I wouldn’t change it, Fatin. Because it gave me you, and many happy years. Things happen, people can be not what you suspected, but to be honest, the signs were always there with your father; I just chose to ignore them. I would trust you have far better taste than men in me. Whoever this boy may be.” 

“Girl,” Fatin whispered, acrylics biting into her calf. 

“What?” 

“It’s a girl,” Fatin admitted.

“That you’re dating?” 

“No. I just-” Fatin paused, catching her breath. “I like her. Have done for a while I guess.” 

“Oh.” Rana stilled; eyes wide. “Well, I certainly didn’t see that one coming.” 

“Are you mad?” 

“Why would I be mad?” Rana chuckled. “It will probably piss your father off though which will give us both a laugh.” 

“Shit.” That was a good point. 

“If he says anything, I have much more dirt on him than you found. Don’t worry about such things.” 

“He will hate me.” 

“I think he already hates us both,” Rana debated, “but only because we make him see himself for who he is. At the end of the day, he doesn’t hate us, he hates the parts of him he tried to mask that we represent.” 

“Yeah, I guess he does.” That was it. At the end of the day, all he hated about them were fragments of himself he wished to discard. Things he had lost that no longer fed into his fantasy family roleplay. He hated the mirror they held to his true self.

“So, who is this girl?” 

Heat rose to her face, and she rolled her eyes, tucking her legs under herself as she sunk further into the sofa. “A girl called Leah Rilke.” 

“Leah Rilke? As in Maryann’s daughter? Lives on the street near the animal sanctuary?” 

What the hell? “Yes, you know this how?” 

“Parents board. We did a bake sale last year for the music department to raise money for new equipment for the children on scholarship. She helped out. So did Leah.” 

“Oh.” 

“Not who I would have expected you to go for, but she seemed a lovely girl.” 

“What do you mean doesn’t seem like my type?” 

“Well, she seemed fairly absorbed in a book the whole time. Barely talked to anyone.” 

Fatin smiled. Yes, that was definitely Leah.

“There’s that smile again. You know she’s welcome over whenever so long as the two of you don't wind up your brothers before I try and get them to sleep.” 

“That’s never going to happen.” Fatin took a long sip of her tea, the liquid burning at her throat. 

“Well, if it does, she’s welcome here.” 

It was the longest conversation she had with her mother in a long time. They spent three hours talking about everything and anything, Rana thanking Fatin for the help around the house but telling her she was thinking of hiring someone to help out a few hours a week so she could have a break. Fatin knew she was embarrassed to admit such things, yes they were well off and rich, but regardless her mother had always been incredibly houseproud and saw these things as tasks a mother should do.

“I did think about moving house. In my line of work, we could get a good deal and there’s a slightly smaller place about ten minutes from here. Still gorgeous but…” 

“Warmer?” 

Rana smiled, patting Fatin's leg once. “Yes. Warmer.” 

“I would like that.” 

“Me too.” Rana hummed into her mug. “I’ll talk to the agent.” 

Chapter Text

Leah POV

Fatin wasn’t in school on Monday. 

This was evident when Leah peaked her nose into the rehearsal room, during a period where she knew Fatin would be there; always was. A fact Leah knew because she routinely passed it on the way to math. Without fail, Fatin was forever there, hunched over her cello with nimble fingers dancing across strings. 

Not that Leah paid attention to such things.

She did. 

On occasion, Leah had a habit of overthinking with her brain spiralling into a shadowy abyss. Which meant that when the first book arrived, she thought it was a joke. Then -after consideration- thought it was one of her parents cheering her up from a moody week. 

However, as she traced her finger over the notes in the margins it appeared to be entirely different. It wasn’t her parents, but someone who went to her school. 

Initially, with the first book in her palm she feared it was Ian. He was the only one who knew of her taste in books and he was close to her. It was hard to picture anyone else ever taking an interest in Leah or her life. She blended into those halls at school like paint, forgotten but there. By the age of twelve, she had more than accepted she would be one of those faces in a yearbook decades later that people pointed to and questioned if she even attended the school.

Her pen drifted across the margins leaving replies to annotations and her own notes too.

However, the second book piqued her interest, because there was a definite theme. Queer women. Again, she pressed her pen to the page but left more relaxed and in-depth notes, no longer assuming this was Ian. It was hard enough getting him to read one sapphic book last year so she could rant about the plot to him.

Eventually she pulled out her letter set from her drawer that she was yet to use, figuring that now was as good a time as any.

‘Hi, 

I don’t know what to say in truth. This is a completely wild predicament I never saw myself facing. (Not that I’m complaining.) 

The first book was great, I love Nina LaCour’s works but hadn’t read that one yet so thank you. Reading your notes left me smiling like an idiot. 

The second I hadn’t actually heard of but enjoyed even more than the first. I’m weak as hell for retellings and Oscar Wilde, so that was ‘epically’ awesome to read. 

Leah read it back, huffing before scribbling out the pun.  

I don’t want to assume anything, but you’ve sent me two books about queer women, is it fair to guess you’re sapphic? 

Was it fair to assume that? It was more so that Leah hoped. Whilst she was bi, she had never been with a woman, the queer pool at her school was fairly small and was kind of an in-crowd of their own; hardly outsider friendly. But perhaps one of them had noticed her? They did seem like the artsy type to annotate things.

I’m not sure if we go to the same school but you should say hi sometime; if you’re comfortable doing so. I’d love to thank my mystery book fairy, who apparently has seriously great taste in literature.

Sincerely, 

Leah Rilke (But I’m assuming you already knew that, right?) 

Leah had taped that letter to her mailbox and prayed neither of her parents read it, (or the postman, she would never live that one down.)

It wasn’t long later that another book appeared, this time with a letter of her own. Far less fancy; a plain mailer and ruled pages from a note book.

‘Leah, 

Obviously, I know who you are (not in like, a creepy stalker way though.) (Shit that made me sound like a creepy stalker, right? Like that’s exactly what they would say?) 

She choked back a laugh, grinning. Yeah. She thought. It kind of did.

I just wanted to make you smile. Life’s been a bit hectic and seeing you reading here and there brightened up my day. I figured I'd try and brighten yours back. 

If it’s okay I’ll remain secret, I prefer life in the shadows. (Fuck that really was full stalker.) 

Hope you like the book and this small little guy I found the other day; someone told me that plants make a great gift for gays. (Not that I’m saying you’re queer.)

Yes, I think I’m pan? Still working it out, recent revelation, I guess. 

Enjoy the book, 

Joe Goldberg (That was a seriously stupid joke I apologise.) 

Leah gnawed on her lip, reading the letter over and over as her cheeks heated. Whoever she is, is pansexual. 

A recent revelation. 

So surely not anyone from the queer crowd? No one had joined that clique in a year or so.

Leah pulled open the book and read. 

She spent each lunchtime in the sun hoping whoever sent it would pass and see her there, content. It was the small things that really made her smile, random receipts and movie tickets. In one there was a postcard for a museum with a statue on the front, that simply read ‘Why is none of the art and history in our museum American? It’s like a free for all of shit White people’s ancestors stole.’

Huh. Leah pondered. White people. 

Did that mean she wasn’t White? Perhaps. Leah noted it down in her notebook that had now been reserved for clues on the mystery girl. 

• pansexual
• doesn’t like reading
• likes dogs
• likes music, all kinds, classical, pop
• eats at café’s A LOT, orders pricy shit, like actual water not tap
• has younger sibling/siblings (ticket stub)
• scared of whales
• doesn’t like blueberries
• likes the lyrical feel of words
• maybe not White?

There were roughly twenty pages more, and scans of cute or interesting annotations from the books that she had copied and printed out. If she returned these so that they could read her annotations Leah was worried she would never get them back, and would surely assume after a year she had dreamt such things up in her mind. This was hard evidence, proof that it did occur.

‘My father is kind of an awful person. But I get this, that feeling that something good could once again come from something so ruined even if in actuality that’s not a possibility. I’m a little closed off in life -don’t get me wrong I know how to have a shit load of fun- but it’s so isolating. There’s not really anyone who knows me and that’s how I like it because if they don’t know me there’s the hope that I will continue to fit in. If people knew me too well I think that hope would finally vanish.’ 

• rough relationship with her father
• perhaps a big friend group?
• might party ‘shit loads of fun’

She once again penned in the margins, even took a picture to slot in the pages of one when Cthulhu was resting on her knees, using the polaroid Ian got her for her birthday.

‘My dog Cthulhu, keeping my legs warm.’

As she read Cow Girl she got more honest and raw with her notes sharing anecdotes that would never make much sense to the person on the other end. One comment about burning building vibes in a relationship made her chuckle but also reminded her of one person in particular. 

Fatin Jadmani. 

The it girl at their school was everywhere, in gossip throughout the corridors and as the face of assemblies where she played with the school orchestra. Their school was known for talent, and she was the best of the best, and of course, had to be the most beautiful person in the school too. 

Leah often ducked her head when she passed her in corridors, babbled nervously, and made inappropriate comments when they did talk, leading to her wishing she could crawl in a hole and die. Fatin was the epitome of carefree and popularity and Leah was, well, no one. 

She had driven her home drunk once, on a whim. Refused to let any girl make their way home like that knowing the kind of guys that lurked around at those parties. Leah went to maybe one party a year, normally for Ian, but it was enough to know just who hung out there. 

And every time, at every single one, Fatin Jadmani was there normally with a leg hooked around some guy making out on a kitchen island.

It was one day when she was working in her grandmother's bookstore that she realised.

“Well, it was worth a shot was it not? Finding fellow queer folk is hard and my granddaughter is quite the bisexual disaster.” 

Leah groaned internally behind a stack of books that weighed more than herself. That woman was forever trying to do this.

“Did I just hear you calling me a bisexual disaster?” Her grandma was so blunt and whilst Leah loved her, it was also mortifying at times.

Dropping the stack of books on the desk she moved around, breath catching at the girl standing there.

“Fatin?” Her voice broke as she spoke, hands playing anxiously with her sleeves.

Fatin simply stared at her; eyes wide as if she recognised her. Then again, maybe she did remember some of the most embarrassing interactions of Leah’s life. Though she wasn’t sure if she even wanted her to, it would probably be less painful if Fatin had forgotten.

“Do you sell kids’ books here? My brother really loves Marvel.” 

Fatin had a brother. Leah couldn’t remember ever seeing her family apart from her parents who were well known at the school and big donors.

“You two know each other?” Edith smiled, and Leah hated it. She knew that damn plotting smile from a mile away but lord forbid she try and set her up with yet another straight girl… and dear fucking god Edith had told her she was bi. It’s not like it is a secret, she just kept such things to her small circle. 

Ian.

“Same school.” Fatin awkwardly added.

“Oh, well, isn’t that something.” 

No. No, she was not going down this route.

“What are you doing this side of town?” Leah interrupted.

“She comes he-” 

“Got lost. Took a wrong turn. Figured I’d make the most of it I guess.” 

Edith seemed to grin at that like it was the best news she had heard all year.

“We do sell children’s books. Leah can show you where they’re at. Actually, Leah, could you grab the ladder from out back first? I’m feeling rather frail today.” 

“Sure.” 

Eventually stumbling back with the ladder in clammy hands she leaned it by the desk, breathing slightly raggedly. Fatin was still standing there, and Leah prayed Edith hadn’t been laying on the selling of Leah to her as a suitor thick as she normally did.

Edith wouldn’t get it. Wouldn’t understand what Leah’s life was like. Her grandmother was always popular according to the stories she heard, more like Fatin than herself. She wouldn’t get that Leah’s life wasn’t like that, that people wouldn’t be interested in her when they didn’t even know she existed or chose to pretend like she didn’t. 

“Hey, did you want me to show you the children’s books?” 

“Sure.” 

Jesus, fuck this was mortifying.

“I’m sorry if she tried to set me up with you. You’re like the fifth person this year and literally all of them have been straight girls.” 

“I’m not straight.” 

The reply was fast and had Leah’s head whipping up. Never once had she heard rumours of Fatin Jadmani being queer and that school was like a dedicated E! News network to the girl. She was basically their Kylie Jenner.

“Sorry, what?” 

Fatin either ignored her or didn’t hear; people rarely took note of what Leah said. She dropped her head slightly, hiding embarrassed behind a curtain of hair.

“This one looks decent, my brother loves Thor. Men and their tools I guess, see a hammer and lose their shit.” 

“Yeah.” She frowned at her, trying to work out what the fuck to say. Somehow it was now even more awkward that her grandma had tried to set them up. Now it wasn’t a case of being denied because she was straight, it was because Leah was Leah.

Fatin was already walking away and placing the book on the counter.

“I’ll take this one.” She said to Edith.

“Not the gift people normally buy in this shop.” Edith chuckled.

“Hm, that’s surprising.” Fatin grabbed the bag from her. “Thank you.” 

“So, I take it from the red face you know the girl?” 

“Different circles. Fatin is kind of really popular. The rich crowd.” 

“Ah, is there not more to her?” 

“She’s like some cello virtuoso or some shit.” Leah went on to tell her everything she knew that was PG, not the fact she slept with a new boy each week or the positions she did such in. (Leah really could have done without overhearing those details herself.)

Chapter Text

Leah POV

It’s as Leah is putting away the new clothbound books that she grins. 

“What’s that smile for?” Edith asked, peering around a dusty box.

“Nothing.” Leah cleared her throat which was suddenly dry. “Some stranger gave me an annotated copy of Orlando.” 

“Oh, you don’t say?” 

“Yeah. It was quite romantic.” 

“You should thank them," Edith suggested.

“I don’t know who it is.”

“All secrets come out eventually.” Her grandmother smiled.

For some reason, the interaction remains in Leah’s mind.

During her next shift, she finds out who the mysterious being is that had been sending the books.

“Hey, am I working the till?” Leah asked as she strolled into the store.

“No, you can do the stock take. Just go over the past couple of months' sales and figure out what we’re selling most of. I've got a feeling we're in a need of yet another Steven King restock. Would it really kill the community to branch out for once?” 

“Okay, sure... and he keeps this place in business don't jinx that shit.” 

"A risk I'm willing to take if it means bland horror blasphemy can live on."

Leah headed out to the dingy, poorly lit backroom. A small desk sat there with a laptop that Leah had made her grandmother buy perched on top, papers stacked around it because she refused to move over to the newer till system, liking the ear-piercing ding of the bell on the one straight out of the 1920s. 

She went over the past handful of months noting the normal wild sales of James Patterson and Steven King books; the elderly really had a certain taste in literature. 

But then one book stuck out.

Watch Over Me by Nina LaCour.

Purchased around the time prior to her receiving it. After a few seconds, she shook away the thought; a mere coincidence.

As she rifled through the papers, she found another.

Epically Earnest by Molly Horan.

Again, the timing is particularly coincidental, but by book three she knows. There’s a sinking feeling and a distinct buzz in her mind, humming like a bee in flight.

Orlando by Virginia Woolf. Cow Girl by Kirsty Eyre. The Selected Poems of Emily Dickenson.

Leah fixates on it so much she gets little work done. It’s not hugely surprising, there can't be tonnes of stores that sell queer books locally. However, it is a strange coincidence. Then there’s that feeling that leaves her on edge that she may have met them and never realised. 

It’s when her grandmother slips up that she knows her name. 

“Do you want a coffee? We’re out of the tea you like.”

“Please,” Leah hums, taking over the last stack of books before making her way to the small chair and table sat in the corner of the store. 

“Did Fatin get anything else or just Thor?” 

Leah wasn't sure why she was still thinking about the five second run-in with their school's most popular atendee. Yet, there was one book she had seen her eyeing up, a Dr. Strange graphic novel and for some reason, she wanted to know if Fatin had ended up grabbing it. There was something about the juxtaposing sight of seeing someone so polished as Fatin picking out Marvel books even if they weren't for herself.

“No just Thor. She normally gets a bookmark too though.” Edith replied without thought, stilling when she realised what she had said. 

“What?” 

“Slip of the tongue.”

“Quite the slip.” Leah frowned, setting her coffee down. “How often does she come here?” 

“I told you, slip of the tongue.”

“You’re a shit liar you know.” She was, her grandmother had taught her how to play poker at the age of five and Leah had still only taken one week to work out her tell. When she lies, her grandmother plays with the chain on her glasses and then proceeds to scratch her nose. Every single time.

Edith steeled her jaw and Leah wasn’t sure why she didn’t just tell her. 

“How often does she come here?” She pried.

“Just on occasion.” 

“To buy books for her brother?” 

Edith didn’t reply taking a sip of her tea. 

The buzzing finally stopped, lightbulbs dinging into place as her grandmother's earlier peculiarness settled into place. “Oh my fucking god.” Leah’s eyes widened. “You knew? You knew all this time?” 

“Leah-” 

“No. Tell me you weren’t in on this. You try to set me up often, but this is taking the piss.” She was livid, anger thrumming through her hot and all-encompassing.

That had to be it. 

“I didn't know until the other week when she came in whilst you were working.” 

That was the truth at least. 

“Why was she buying books for me?” 

“If you have to ask me that, you’re more oblivious than I thought.” 

“Fatin doesn’t like me.” Couldn't. There was no change in hell.

“Is that so?” 

“She doesn’t even know me.” 

“Well, clearly, she notices more than you realise. Drink your coffee Leah, it’s getting cold.”

She ends up working one day she normally wouldn’t due to her grandma being sick with a cold that left her throat even more croaky than usual.

It’s only slightly surprising when Fatin walks in. And here’s the thing, Leah had the books ready and sat there waiting to catch her out just on the off chance that she did. She wants to know why. Was it some dare or joke? Hit on the book nerd. Was it a laugh for her? A distraction?

“Well, well, well...” Leah looked up at her, biting her lip. “Back for another copy of Thor?” She added sarcastically.

Fatin’s face fell as she swallowed. “Your grandma isn’t working today?” 

“She’s sick.” 

There was a pause and her face contorted. “Is she okay?” 

“Just a cold. She lives above the store if you want to run her a cup of tea.” She joked.

“Why would I,” 

“Here’s the thing, Fatin.” Leah put down the book she was reading on the mahogany counter. “I was doing inventory the other day, and it’s funny because we don’t really sell a lot of queer books here. The occasional one, sure. So, imagine my surprise when I saw that we sold, in an oddly familiar order, at least one a week.” 

“I,” 

“My grandmother is definitely sneaky I’ll give her that, but the woman can’t lie for shit. When she slipped up, said you were in here the week prior, I decided to do some digging.” Her brow furrowed. “That wasn’t your first time here was it, last week?” 

“No,” Fatin admitted. 

Carefully she dropped the pile of books between them. “I’m not expecting an explanation. But I annotated these back, figured you may want to read them.” Leah did. Though she hoped if it was a joke Fatin would feel bad as shit as she read them and realised how much it meant to her.

“Okay.” 

“I do have one question though. Why me?” 

The girl stilled in front of her, arms crossed. “You don’t expect anything of me,” Fatin spoke, reaching for the pile of books. “See you at school Leah.” 

Leah didn’t get a chance to reply, Fatin’s back already turned as she went out. 

Of all the answers Leah was expecting, ‘you don’t expect anything of me’ was not one of them.

However, she was surprised -completely taken aback- when Fatin returned maybe half an hour later, a bag in her hand.

“She lives above here, right?” 

Leah looked at her in shock, eyes wide and questioning as she nodded. “Door is the one next to this at the front. Just buzz.” 

Fatin was here to see her grandma? 

It only got more peculiar when she went up to her grandma’s apartment after her shift, halting in the doorway when she saw Fatin rolling her eyes at Edith, muttering something between them too low for her to hear. 

“Um hi?” Leah was at the door, a key dangling in her hand. “I take it you know each other well?” Clearly.

“Yes, Fatin here is a complete pain in my ass; a little shit if I’m being honest.” 

“Cut it out asshole.” Fatin bit back, both grinning. 

What the hell was happening? At this point, Leah wasn’t sure if she’d taken something accidentally and this whole thing was simply the longest trip.

“This is so weird,” Leah whispered to herself. 

“I was just leaving. It’s probably her bedtime. Make sure you water her, or she gets dried out and catty.” 

“Just like you, dear.” 

Seriously what the fuck? It was like having two of her grandma on one sofa.

Fatin glared at her with a grin. “Soup is by the sink. Don’t eat it all at once.” 

“Thank you.” Her grandmother went to get up, but Fatin waved her away. “Take care of her, she cheats at Jeopardy by the way.” 

“I do not.” 

“You’re literally watching recordings.” 

“I haven’t watched these ones for months,” Edith stated, “I’m old I’d have forgotten the day after.” 

“Lies.” Fatin passed Leah, a hand resting on the doorframe. “I grabbed some flu medication too, ones that weren’t as strong so should be okay if she’s on other medications.” 

“Thank you.” 

Fatin tilted her chin, ducking out the door. 

Leah took a second to gather herself from the haze of this whirlwind before she joined her grandmother on the sofa.

“You know you could do worse than her. She’ll save you money on a carer too once I’m senile.” 

“Shut up.” Leah chuckled, throwing a cushion gently at her. “What the fuck was that?”

“She’s a lovely girl. We chat sometimes.”

So yes, it was confusing when Fatin wasn’t in school on Monday. 

A fact evident as Leah peaked her nose into the rehearsal room, during a period where she knew Fatin would be there; always was. Something Leah knew for sure because she routinely passed it on the way to math and Fatin was always there hunched over her cello, fingers dancing nimbly across strings. 

She wasn’t in school, and Leah had no idea why. 

“You’re late,” Edith stated as she walked in with a backpack slung limply over her shoulder. 

“I know, my lit teacher kept me late to talk about some writing competition.” 

“Oh, in that case, all is forgiven.” 

“Fatin wasn’t in today.” 

“I know.” 

Leah baulked at that, almost walking into a stack of books that had been delivered. 

“What?” 

“She spent the day here. We bound a book.” 

“You… bound a book?” 

“Yes.” 

“In the basement?” Leah queried.

“Where else?” 

“You don’t even let me in the basement.” And it wasn't for a lack of trying either. Leah had been trying to get into that place since she could reach the lock in an attempt to pick it from the age of six. She had almost taken an eye out when the stack of books she had once stood on, gave way from beneath her sending her careening face first into the thing.

“If I let you in the basement, I’d never get you out. I’m sure there’s no risk of that with Fatin.” 

A fair point. 

“Still, you never let me in there. Why was she here anyway?” 

“The girl has a lot on her mind. I guess she was in need of a momentary reprieve.” 

“Fatin? Fatin has a lot on her mind?” She laughed at the suggestion. Leaving crappy Yelp reviews for manicures did not count as 'a lot'.

“You’ve read her annotations. Surely there was something there to suggest that.” 

Leah was still trying to wrap her brain around the fact Fatin had left those. “Her dad?” 

“I wouldn’t know. She’s quite the closed book is Fatin. Could do with someone to open her up.” 

“Gross.” 

“Leah!” Edith gasped. “Rotten minds your generation. I meant emotionally, you harlot. Also, you may want to think about what you put in those books you gave her.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Just that it would be an awful shame if you mentioned her in one unknowingly.” 

“I would never-” Paling, she gripped the counter as the memory surfaced of one particular note. Cow Girl. Shit. Oh, holy crap balls. “Shit.” 

“Shit indeed. Potted plants are a good apology gift, though I don’t think that’s Fatin.” 

“I couldn’t afford anything to apologise to Fatin with.” She mocked, there was no way she was dropping a grand on a ‘sorry I was a total cunt’ handbag.

“If I know one thing about that girl, it’s that she’s little bothered by expensive things even if she happens to own them," Edith said. "Books out back need labelling kid.” 

“Okay.”

After work, Leah headed to the one store she knew for certain would be open at this time of the evening. 

A shop that belonged to a friend of her grandmother’s, its sign just as weathered as their own. 

Emerald green paint flaked away at the edges with the barely legible ‘Douglas’ Antiques’ written there and surrounded by broken, mismatched, gold swirls. 

“Leah! Long time no see.” 

“Sorry, school gets kind of mad around exam time.” But also, there was the fact that Douglas, much like her grandmother, was quite the loud eccentric fellow and often left Leah feeling like she had run a marathon after conversing with the pair.

“How is Edith?” 

“Still a lesbian.” She grinned. 

“Ay, still got a few years in me left before I pop my clogs. Cannae believe she’s immune to my wiles.” 

Douglas was perhaps as Scottish as they came, his thick highland accent barely unpenetrated by decades of living in America.

“Well, I’m pretty sure you’ll be holding out eternally.” 

“A lad can dream though. Say, why are you over there looking all peely-wally for?”

“Peely what now?” 

“Pale," he clarified.

“Oh.” Leah walked over to the counter, browsing the new broaches there. “I, uh, made a mistake. Hurt someone.” 

“A boyfriend?” He waggled his brows. 

Leah laughed, shaking her head. 

“Aye, so it is.” 

“No, it’s um, it’s a girl.” She added nervously with a blush rising to her cheeks.

“Oh blimey, really are Edith’s granddaughter aren’t ya?”

“Apparently so.” 

“Well, look around. Whole new bunch o’ goods out back if you want a peruse.”

“Thank you.” 

“No problem. Go woo your lass.” Douglas shooed her in the direction of the backroom.

Blushing bright crimson, she pushed her way into the back. If anyone thought that her grandmother’s shop lacked organisation they were yet to have visited Douglas’. 

Furniture was strewn everywhere, jewellery boxes stacked on chairs, stacked on cabinets, stacked on sofas. It was a lawsuit waiting to happen. Some pieces even swayed any time a breeze wafted into the room. The walls were painted a heinous yellow and gilded with gold flowers and the floor was a chocolate brown wood; probably much older than Douglas himself. 

“Check under the dining set at the back would ya? New box of small goods I bought at a fair last week.” 

Leah headed towards the back, ducking under a number of overhanging antiques and taking a chandelier droplet to the eye before making it through. 

“It’s like being in the antique trenches.” She grumbled, kneeling to pull a box out from under the table.

In reality, she had not considered what Fatin would like. Yes, she played the cello but if her annotations were anything to go by… she didn’t enjoy it so much as put up with it. Fatin had talked of ‘parents who pushed her into something she never chose’ and she assumed, that was in reference to the one thing Fatin was working to the bone over. 

Her hands rifled through numerous objects: one of those wooden instrument frogs, a tonne of broaches, creepy ass dolls, a single vintage Miss Piggy that stared back at her with eyes so hollow they would forever haunt her dreams, a collection of walking sticks all hand carved, one with a jagged tiger on the handle -more so a pimp cane- it’s teeth so sharp she almost cut herself on the ivory inlays. However there, right at the bottom was something intriguing. 

A vintage compact mirror, gold with an intricate pattern adorning it, with the letters F. J. on the front. 

Really a curious coincidence but then again, her life seemed to be full of those lately. 

Most of Leah’s memories of Fatin were through stolen glances of her at the lunch table with her friends, or her through the doorway in a class, often with a compact open checking her makeup. 

One time their eyes had met in the reflection, Leah’s breath catching as she gulped and hastily looked away.

Yes, this was perfect. 

“Ah really are trying to woo a lass ay?  Flowers half do a good job too ya know,” he said.

“I don’t know if she’s a flower kind of person.” 

“Everyone’s a flower person.” He grinned, ringing up the mirror at a price Leah knew was far less than the object's true worth. Then again she knew better than to try and debate such issues with Douglas; she would simply never win.

Leah ends up getting flowers after Douglas’ mention; a single bunch of lavender with white roses mixed in. She had read somewhere months back now that lavender used to be used as a signifier for women attracted to women over a century ago. As such it seemed fitting.

The gift felt all too much and not enough simultaneously. 

She just hoped Fatin would forgive her.

Chapter Text

Fatin POV

Fatin goes to school the next day, breathing a sigh of relief when she makes it through the day without seeing Leah. It’s the one day she has cello rehearsals and she’s kept late, so much so that it’s only her and one other student left in the entire building. (Their teacher and the creepy janitor are the only other company in near proximity.)

When it’s over and her fingers are numb, she trudges out to the car park, her cello resting heavily against her shoulder blades and chafing at her skin. Yet another thing she detested about it. 

As Fatin approached her car she swore and muttered, "Fucking shits," under her breath because someone had left a bag against her car. Her fucking baby. Honestly, why did people suck?

The annoyance quickly fell away, however, when she picked the bag up. 

Flowers, a card, and something heavy weighed down the bag; small and wrapped in cream tissue paper, adorned with a gold bow. 

‘Fatin.’ 

Driving home quicker than intended, of course her mother was there as she entered the house, ready to pounce on her. 

“Oh, did you grab groceries?” 

“No, I-” 

But her mother had apparently decided today was the day to be a really nosy bitch, and peered in the bag. 

“Flowers?” 

“Yes.” 

“Leah?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“There’s a card,” Rana prompted. 

“Yes, I have eyes Mother. I’m going up to my room.” 

Jesus Christ. 

Putting the bag down on her bed, she then moved to discard her cello in its normal resting place, deciding to change into her pyjamas because for some reason, she needed to feel more comfortable before giving in to her nervous urge to open the mysterious package. 

Yet once she was in her pyjamas, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. 

She pried at the bag once, twice... fifteen times, pacing her way around her room in between like she was considering how to defuse a bomb.

“Just open the bag. Get. Your. Shit. Together.” Running her hands through her hair, she groaned loudly. “Ugh.” 

Pushing herself forward before she could wimp out again, she picked up the card. 

‘I really hope this makes it to you. 

Turns out I was kind of a dick, or like, a massive dick and I’m sorry. I can’t remember exactly what I wrote but I know that none of that is you. 

At the time I only knew you through rumours and moments in the school halls, a brief interaction here or there. But I knew my book bringer far better, and those school perceptions are not you. What I said was unfair; though don’t get me wrong I still think you were an ass when I drove you home drunk which I’m going to assume you do remember seeing as though you weren’t at school on Monday. (However, you were also drunk, so really that was to be expected.) Now that I know you -at least some of you- I know that you're kind, caring and so entirely captivating Fatin Jadmani.

I hope this says sorry better than I can. Though I wasn’t sure what you'd like... I assumed a book would not be a great choice. 

-LR

A trembling hand pulled out the flowers, snow white roses and pale lilac lavender that filled her room with a floral scent. They were beautiful and no one, bar her mother after certain performances, had ever given her flowers. 

A tear rolled down her cheek, Fatin swatting it away for the annoyance that it was. 

Then there was the parcel, small but fairly heavy. Setting her jaw, she worked the bow free then peeled away the paper. Her breath caught, jaw slack as she stared at it. 

A vintage gold compact covered in a delicate flower pattern with F. J. written on the centre. Popping it open the mirror was in perfect condition, and a slip of paper folded inside floated out and onto her lap. 

‘Fatin, I don’t just like your brain, kind of adore your face too. 

-L’ 

Kind of adore your face.

Like your brain.

Fatin read the words over and over, standing to grab her car keys. Leah would not out game her, Fatin was a badass confident woman and would not be out-romanced after months of sending books. 

“Honey, where are you heading?” Rana asked, noting the keys in her daughter’s hands. 

“Leah.” She groaned. 

“But you’re-” 

Fatin didn’t hear the rest, she was already out the door and in her sports car, key in the ignition as she drove towards the Rilke’s house. 

It was, however, half past seven at night. Perhaps not the best time to randomly turn up unannounced, but it’s not like she could text and ask. 

Her hand bashed against the wood a few times, stepping back as she tried to calm her breathing. 

“Uh, can I help you?” 

“Is Leah home?” 

“Oh.” The man smiled brightly. “Are you friends?” He seemed overjoyed at the idea, then again, Fatin had only ever seen Leah with the one scrawny kid beside her. 

“Uh, yeah. Yes. Friends.” No, but then again, she really didn’t want to tell him that she really wanted nothing more than to stick her tongue in his daughter's mouth. 

“She’s upstairs. First door on the right.” 

Oh. Well, shit. That… that was not the plan. 

“Okay. Thank you.” 

Slowly creeping up the stairs she realised how weird this would be for Leah. Majorly weird to suddenly turn up in her damn room, unannounced at night having sent her mystery packages for weeks on end. 

Fatin knocked twice, Leah calling vaguely to come in like she was busy doing something. 

When Fatin opened the door Leah was sitting on her bed, headphones slung over one ear with a notebook and science textbook in front of her. 

“I said earlier, I’ve already eaten.” Leah turned, mouth hanging open at the sight of Fatin who was standing in her doorway. “What-” 

“Came over, didn’t figure your dad would like, send me on up and shit.” 

“Remind me to kill him.” 

Leah was dressed down in no make-up, a faded Phoebe Bridgers t-shirt and a small pair of shorts. Far more dressed down than Fatin had ever seen her, and it left her face heating as she averted her eyes like she wasn’t meant to see her like this. Here, outside of school, relaxed. Leah as Leah. 

“You can come in, maybe shut the door though?” 

“Um, yeah.” 

Fatin pulled it shut, now standing awkwardly in the middle of her room. There were bookcases she had seen in the polaroid on the far side next to an old writing desk. A single green chair with a lamp overhanging it then a cupboard on the near side. Posters were plastered over the wall of one area, artists Fatin had never heard of. 

“I got the bag.” 

“I gathered,” Leah rasped. 

“It was sweet. Like, seriously fucking sweet.” 

“I’m glad you liked it.” She smiled nervously.

“And you don’t have to be sorry. I guess that was a pretty good descriptor of me.” 

“No,” Leah denied, “it wasn’t.” 

“Well, either way, the flowers were beautiful, and the mirror was really thoughtful.” 

“I got lucky finding it,” Leah debated. 

“Thank you. For them.” Fatin smiled up at her, watching Leah pull her lip between her teeth briefly. “So... nice room.” 

“Nice clothes.” Leah jested back. 

“What?” Fatin looked down, wincing when she realised what she was wearing. She had put on the pyjamas; the damn Pokémon ones with Ditto on the shirt and all over the pants. “Oh god.” 

“I don’t know, kinda love the vibe you have going on.” Leah smirked. “Gotta catch ‘em all, right?” 

“I hate you right now. You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m definitely feeling miles better about my outfit.” Leah stood, twirling once. 

“Your outfit is cool.” Fatin protested. It was kind of hot in all truth, the edgy indie kid vibe Leah rocked. 

“And yours is cute.” Leah stepped forward, taking the pyjama shirt between her fingers at the hem. “I mean that print is really something.” 

“My brothers got me them. Don’t judge.” 

As Leah looked down at her, Fatin realised she had a fair height advantage over her smaller frame. It was seriously attractive.

She swallowed hard, jaw working as she noted their proximity. 

“You know I’ve been wanting to kiss you since book two,” Leah admitted.

“You didn’t even know what I looked like. I could have been the school janitor for all you knew.” 

“I’m so lucky you’re not then, aren’t I?”

“Anytime today, Rilke. Haven’t been waiting for lo-” 

Fatin caught her hand on the back of Leah’s head as lips quickly met hers. 

It was soft and sweet, yet all-encompassing. It was the flutter of butterflies that had long since been held in her stomach finally released and the taste of vanilla ChapStick on plump lips. Though it only lasted seconds before Leah pulled away. 

“I really like you.” 

“Ditto, bitch.” Fatin breathed out, pulling her back down and against her as she took her lip between her teeth and lightly nipped. 

“Fatin,” Leah spoke, walking them back until Fatin’s back hit the door. “Don’t ever stop annotating books for me.” 

Lips returned, Fatin humming an, "I won’t," against her mouth as fingers burned against her back. Her whole body tingled with the need to remain like this forever, pressed up against a door with Leah’s fingertips biting into her waist where her pyjama shirt had ridden up, but then Leah was reaching around her and… turning her door handle. 

“My parents have an open door policy and know I’m bi.” 

“Ugh Rilke, you’re killing me.” 

“Do you have an open-door policy?” 

“No.” 

“Then I guess we know whose house we’re spending more time at.” Leah grinned, kissing her again on the nose. 

“Whose house…” 

“Fatin, I know you normally don't do the whole commitment thing but you’ve spent months sending me books you annotated. Any badass persona you had is long since out the window along with these truly sexy pyjamas. Is that a fair assumption?” 

“A very accurate assumption I guess. I caught you, didn’t I?” 

“Worst line ever babe. Jesus,” Leah said, cheeks flushing anyway.

“Babe.” Fatin echoed, pulling Leah’s lips back to meet her own. 

“Fatin,” Leah scorned, “you haven’t even met my parents. Don’t make them find out because you’re doing that thing where-” Leah sighed. “Actually no, just kiss me again.”

Chapter Text

Fatin POV

The day of their first date arrives and Fatin is slightly freaking out. 

By slightly she meant she had already downed four pumpkin spice lattes in hope that the feeling of autumnal peace would soothe her now shaking hands, forgetting that the caffeine in them would likely have the opposite effect. 

Three days ago, she had kissed Leah for almost twenty minutes, eventually parting from her as Leah pulled up a film on her laptop for them to watch. 

Kurt had noted the open door with a raised brow Leah pointedly ignored before bidding them both goodnight, leaving Fatin with the fact she knew at some point soon she would have to adhere to the rules of the house, and perhaps the archaic macho, ‘do right by my daughter,’ speech.

“What have you got planned?” Edith queried. “Nudist beach?” 

“You’re such an ass.” Fatin groaned, slipping a book onto a shelf that the short woman couldn’t quite reach. “Yes, I figured I would take your minor of a granddaughter to a nudist beach likely filled with creeps.” 

“Hey,” Edith chided, “I’ll have you know I rocked a nudist beach in my time. Once met quite the stunner there, Annabel. My word, French as well, the things that woman could do.”

“Oh my god, no.” 

“I meant the French onion soup she used to make, absolutely ravishing that. The perfect combination of sweet and salty from this incredible cheese she used to source. Though the cow never revealed where she got it from. When she moved onto a surfer, I lost both a beautiful woman and the cheese. Heartbreaking that.” 

Fatin noted to maybe take Edith shopping in the farmers market near Target for cheese one day. They had some incredible shit.

“I’m taking her somewhere I hope she will like.” 

“That’s rather vague, after you stalked my granddaughter for months on end maybe I should attach an ankle monitor just in case. Keep track of her when she undoubtedly ends up in the trunk of your car.” 

“Such a bitch.” 

“Are you two having fun? Should I just leave you?” Leah said as she stepped in the door. 

“Fatin here won’t tell me what she has planned for you. My aging heart can barely stand the suspense; what if I keel over from a heart attack caused by not knowing? The Queen died yesterday, who’s to say I’m not next to be claimed by the immortal snail?” 

“If you can wait years for the prequel to The Priory, you can wait a few hours to hear that she hasn’t tried to murder me,” Leah said.

“I don’t know, I’ve seen her with a hacksaw you could probably easily fend her off. She has less hand-eye coordination than myself and I’m barely of sight at this point.” 

“True, plus she’s shorter so outrunning her shouldn’t be all that hard,” Leah agreed.

“I’m standing right here!” Fatin deadpanned. “Right, Edith, pleasure as always but I’m stealing Leah.” 

“Use protection!” 

“Oh my god I hate her sometimes,” Leah grumbled as her cheeks flamed pink. 

Leah POV

“Where are we going?” 

Fatin had been strangely tense the whole way, barely talking and tapping her acrylics against the steering wheel on a constant. However, Leah’s question was met with silence. 

“Fatin, are you okay?” She tried again, nudging her slightly.

“What?” Fatin whipped her head around, composing herself quickly before she began tapping again. 

“Are you okay? You seem… off.” 

“I’m uh…” She swallowed, parking the car. 

“Fatin?” 

“Sorry I’m like, a little anxious and I don’t do anxious like ever so I’m just… processing?” 

“Can I ask what you’re anxious about?” 

“You,” Fatin answered bluntly. 

“Me?” 

Fatin was anxious about her? Leah said less than perhaps anyone at school and always remained on the outside of everyone and everything, too socially awkward to even make an attempt at fitting in. She was scared of that?

“Yeah, you’re kind of incredible. And I don’t date so I’m worried I’m gonna screw this up and my god, I’m screwing this up by saying this aren’t I? Shit.” 

“I mean, honestly, it’s kind of making me feel way better. Fatin you’re out with a quiet book lover and I’m out with one of the most popular people at school who happens to be some cello extraordinaire. Did you think I wouldn’t feel like that too? Because I am. I keep touching your wrist just to prove to my brain that you are in fact real and not some seriously realistic dream.” 

“That’s why you keep touching my wrist?” 

“Sorry, I can stop,” Leah babbled. 

“No, please don’t. I kind of really like it.” 

“Oh, okay.” Leah swallowed, enjoying the way her stomach swooped at that revelation. “But what I’m saying is you’re not feeling anything that isn’t totally normal. So, breathe and come show me what you have planned before my grandma does have that heart attack because she’s certainly dramatic enough to bring one on if she felt like it would get her gossip sooner.” 

Fatin grinned at her, shaking out the nervous energy and smiling. “Okay, yeah, come on.” 

Opening her door, Fatin offered her a hand and helped her out of the sports car probably worth more than Leah’s parent’s house. 

“What is this place?” Leah asked, staring at the huge frog on display; one of those cardboard cutouts you could poke your head through in place of a face. “Fatin-” 

“No.” 

“Come on!” 

“No.” 

“Seriously? No one will see you?” Except for Edith. And Ian.

“Oh my god, fine,” Fatin grumbled, moving behind the card and sticking her head through. It was adorable; Leah’s chest tightened at the sight of the grumpy girl staring at her in total mortification.

“You have to smile,” Leah said as she stared at Fatin’s very glum face and tense shoulders. 

“Really?” 

“Babe please.” Shit, she hadn’t meant to say that. Yet the word made Fatin’s eyes go wide, slowly pulling a small bashful smile from her face that Leah quickly snapped. “You look so cute.” 

“I look like a total idiot,” Fatin said, pulling her phone out. “Scootch.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, I also need evidence of the crime just in case you wake up wanting to share that.” 

“I have twenty followers on Instagram and hardly anyone at school even realises I go there.” 

“How the hell do you have only twenty followers? Not even any bots?” 

“No, honestly I’m quite offended that no sugar daddies have ever attempted to message me,” Leah added, poking her head through the hole and blushing because yes; she was feeling rather idiotic at this moment. 

“Smile,” Fatin yelled. 

“Ugh, this is horrible.” 

“Babe,” Fatin grinned, a little bit of her usual cocky personality seeping back in and making Leah’s stomach flutter as she stared at her with a smug smile and raised brow. 

Of course she smiled. When Fatin Jadmani tells you to smile and calls you babe, you damn well smile. 

“Why is there a frog here anyway?” Leah asked, eyes peering around the place as she settled on the red painted sign hung boldly above the front desk.

Frog Land, America's Best Frog Exhibit!

“You're taking me to see frogs?” 

“You love frogs.” 

“I do but I… How did you remember that?” 

There was an offhand comment she had made in book one about her adoration of amphibians and absolute love of frogs. 

Their toes? Iconic. 

“I don’t know, it just kind of stuck I guess,” Fatin said whilst paying for their tickets. 

“I’m gonna be honest, I'm embarrassingly excited about this. Did they say what species they had here?” 

Fatin laughed. “No, I saw frog museum and automatically knew you’d lose your shit so here we are.” Fatin opened the door, letting Leah in first before following in behind her and stopping dead still. 

Dead being the keyword.

“What in the holy shit?” Fatin gasped. 

Because there, surrounding them was exhibition after exhibition of taxidermy frogs. 

Stark silence punctuated the air as they stares into hoards of beady eyes.

“Leah I am so fucking sorry.” 

Leah could feel the worry radiating off Fatin as her hand held her own in a slightly shaking death grip, the cockiness doused away from her once more. 

She couldn’t have that, and as it stood this place seriously played to Leah’s bleak humour side. Her eyes poured over the exhibition, landing on one near them. “Oh my god, Fatin!” She hit her arm. “Look, it’s The Last Supper.” 

The Last Frogger- Leonardo da Vinci 1495-1498

Fatin trailed behind her, cautiously quiet until she read the nameplate. “The Last Frogger? Really?” 

Leah let out a snort, burying it embarrassedly. 

“I’m sorry did you just,” Fatin said, turning to take in Leah’s face of pure joy. “Wait, do you like this?” 

“Yes,” Leah stated already walking to the next. She would probably have to take Ian here for his birthday, maybe her father. Both shared Leah’s obscure humour. “Oh my god, this one is based on the Dogs Playing Poker painting!” 

Frogs Playing Poker – Cassius Marcellus Coolidge, 1910

“Leah, they’re literally dead.” 

“I mean that’s… yes, rather unfortunate, but it said over there that they’re donated passed frogs and people's deceased pets.” Leah grinned looking at the case further. “He’s holding a playing card! It's not a thumb, but look at his little toe beans.” 

“Are you serious?” Fatin asked. 

“Deadly.” Leah held in the laugh at her own pun.

“Oh.” Fatin wiped the frown off her face, trailing behind Leah, just content to watch her grin and tell her about the different species. At one point Leah worried she would be bored by the endless facts, yet every time Leah peered up, Fatin was looking over at her with a lip between her teeth to suppress her smile.

“Wait, look at this one.” 

“I’m sorry are they meant to be…” 

“Eating at IHOP.” Leah clarified. 

“That’s actually kind of amazing.” 

“Let me take a picture of you with them.” 

“Leah,” Fatin whined. “They’re dead.” 

“Exactly so they’re unbothered by flash photography. Smile.” 

“Ugh.” 

As much as Fatin tried to hide her enjoyment of this totally obscure hellscape, every now and again she’d let out an airy laugh and mask it as a cough whenever she read a frog pun. 

Fatin was nothing like Leah had once thought, jaded and sharp. She was soft edges, and hidden smiles, nervously shaking her head with a grin whenever Leah did something she liked, such as talking about random facts and telling Fatin stories never seen in the pages of any books they had exchanged. 

“Did you read them all?” 

“The books?” Fatin asked.

“Yeah,” Leah said pushing a stray bit of hair behind Fatin’s ear; causing the girl to duck her head shyly. 

Fatin, shy? No, Leah didn’t think she would ever live to see that. 

“No, I haven’t read the last.” 

Leah hummed. “You should, I added some to that one once I realised who you were.” 

“You what?” 

“You should read it,” she summarised, leaning down to kiss Fatin after they had passed the last frog exhibit. They stood in a dark corridor that led them out of the place, lit only just by a warm lamp in the corner. The fake flames of the bulb filament danced across Fatin’s cheeks in ripples, Leah marvelling and brushing her thumb against the skin there. 

Leah let lips dance across her own, holding Fatin against the wall as her palm pressed against her back, sighing as they parted. “Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?” 

“No but don’t let me stop you,” Fatin said, voice slightly gravelly as Leah continued to brush her cheek. 

“You’re so beautiful. And I loved this.” 

“You seriously didn’t hate the creepy frogs? Because I can redo this.” 

“It was perfect.” 

“I was going to take you for food after, but my stomach may need an hour's break from this place before we do that,” Fatin acknowledged. 

Leah kissed her again, this time on the nose simply because she was being cute.

Fatin however stilled; her mouth open like she was shocked Leah had done such a thing. “Come on, I need to send photos to my grandma.” 

“Don’t you dare send her any of me!” 

Chapter Text

Fatin POV

The following week Fatin was on an emotional high as she entered the store. This week Fatin was going to let the world know that she was both queer, and in a committed relationship; two things that would drum up both apprehension and wild discourse. Fatin did flings and one-night stands… with guys. 

And now? 

Tomorrow she would be changing that perception. Whilst she didn’t mind being seen as someone who slept around -everyone should be sex positive in Fatin’s mind, slut shaming was archaic- she hated the feeling that people thought that was all there was to her. That she was vapid and self-centered. Detached. 

But most of all she wanted to show everyone just how much she loved Leah, and how lucky she was to have her by her side. 

She wanted to do the cringy couple shit of kissing her after she walked her to her next lesson or sharing food at lunch. Wanted to play with Leah’s hair as she read on the green, at peace for once in her life, away from the stresses. 

Leah was peace, she was beauty, and intelligence. Calm and caring.

She was warmth. The ripple of a bonfire upon your cheeks on a cold winter’s day, or the moment you open an oven to a freshly baked meal. Leah Rilke was the smell of coffee and of Edith’s book shop, mixed with a light floral scent that lingered on her neck. 

Yes, Leah Rilke was quite the comfort, encapsulating everything a person should. 

Fatin just hoped she would encapsulate something similar for Leah. 

“What the fuck is that?” Fatin practically yelled. (It was barely a raised voice, but voices carried in this store, echoed through the stacks until they felt far grander than they were, then again perhaps it was simply the stark silence here that made it appear as such.)

“Oh, you mean this?” Edith gestured to a painting behind her. One done in what appeared to be oils or something similar, styled like a renaissance piece you would expect to see in an antiques shop or museum with the more foreboding shades of green and brown accentuated by stark white and gold.

The painting sat in an audaciously eccentric gold frame, accentuated with flowers and vines that crept around the sides breathing life into it. Whilst most renaissance pieces were of the monarchy or educators at the time this one was not. 

Oh no. 

Fatin was faced with a large renaissance piece of her fucking face peering through the cardboard frog cut out. 

“Don’t you like it? It’s going on the wall by the fire. Has quite the bit of hop to it.” 

“It’s fucking horrific.” 

“Oh, don’t you think that’s a tad dramatic.” 

Groaning Fatin narrowed her eyes at it. “Did I mention I hate you?” 

“Once or twice. Do you think the D&D group will like it? I think it will add to the spirit of the place, Douglas is hanging it up for me later.”

“I’m going to kill your granddaughter.” 

“Oh, I had one of her made too, it’s her mother’s Christmas present. Maryann will hate it, but the woman is so damn polite the thing will sit on her walls until her passing.”

Edith lifted the second painting from behind the counter, making Fatin grin as she lifted her phone to take a photo. 

“This one you approve of?” 

“This one isn’t heinous.” 

“Oh! A lovely word that. Such emotion. But alas Douglas had already been scheduled. He’ll be leaping for joy when he sees this.” 

“Exactly how many puns do you have?” 

“Puns are the best flavour of humour child. They’re so ridiculous that they still carry zing and it’s one form of humour that’s aged well over the years.”

Fatin couldn’t dispute that. “Fine.” 

“I hear you took my granddaughter to see corpses for your first date. Here I was just starting to think you weren’t a serial killer and then some compelling evidence lands upon my lap.” Edit held up her old android phone with a blurry picture of Leah standing in front of a frog rendition of the lifting of Simba scene in The Lion King.

“I didn’t realise they were dead, obvi. It was horrific and I will never live that down.” 

“Don’t speak too soon I haven’t seen Leah smile that much since she was potty trained.” 

Fatin held in a laugh, refusing to think too much about the fact they were related. 

“Next time I will actually do some Google work, okay?” 

“On the contrary, I think the lack of the Google was germane to its success. No one just goes places anymore it’s all Yelp reviews and stars and there is no mystery. I can say there is quite a bit of mystery in a taxidermy frog exhibit.” 

“Mm, the mystery I wish to erase from my mind.” Fatin shuddered. 

“What brings you back here?” 

“Well, I can’t stop wooing Leah now that she’s willing to date me. Honestly probably the opposite I now have to remind her what I have to offer.”

“So, you’re annotating more books?” Edith asked, peering over her glasses. 

“I’m annotating one, but I wanted to ask if it’s still okay to use this?” Fatin pulled out the small and ornate, gold key from her pocket. 

“Oh binding, are you?” 

“Had an idea so to speak.” 

“Care to share with the elderly masses?” 

“You’re one person.” 

“Yes, but the books listen too. Many are older than me.” 

“I was going to bind some of Leah’s writing and some other things that mean something to her.” Us.

“One week in and she’s already bringing out the big guns I see.” 

“Edith,” Fatin groaned. 

“Leah deserves someone to woo her. Go bind your love letter or whatever gay shenanigans you have planned. Honestly, homosexuals are so exuberant.” 

“You’re a lesbian.” 

“Precisely, so I can tell you that’s quite the queer statement you have planned. Very, what’s her name… Leah plays her a lot in the back room… the depressed music young queer people flourish in. Highly poetic.” 

“Lana Del Rey?” 

“No, the one always wearing the skeleton outfits like a fruit freshly risen from the depths of pain.” 

“Phoebe Bridgers?” 

“Ah, yes!” Edith cheered. “So poetic, but so eccentrically, emotionally queer. Very Dickensian. Emily, not Charles of course.” She huffed at the thought. “Well, get to it. Glue doth take quite the age to dry.” 

Fatin rolled her eyes, her smile betraying her. “Thank you, for letting me use the area. Not for that monstrosity.” 

“It could be worse I could add a nameplate.” 

“Asshole.” 

Edith’s cackle followed her as she pushed into the back room.

With the key jimmied the lock eventually clicked open, Fatin ducking her way down the small spiral staircase. Handily, Edith had left her bullet-pointed notes on the far wall as well as some not-so-subtle instructions. 

Do not touch Ida’s erotica that I’m rebinding, it is not for the eyes of innocence. Plus, she may be eighty-five but if anyone damages that it’s both vintage and out of print so she will not hesitate to wound you with her walking stick.

(I almost lost my ankle to her in 2002.)

Pringles are stashed in the binding tape cabinet.

Fatin shivered as she laid eyes upon Ida’s erotica. 

The Ship That Doth Sail

No. No. Hell no. Fatin did not want to know -ever- if that ship was a metaphor, and she couldn’t even tell Edith she’d seen it from fear of the sea men puns it would bring. 

Fatin sat, dusting off the near desk as she began to unpack her bag. 

Articles dating back forever from any exert of works Leah had done for the school or any competitions thanks to their library database. Scans of her favourite annotated quotes of the books they read with more annotations added. Odd segments and paragraphs. Photographs throughout, all edited in neatly. Exerts of short stories that held no copyright like older Emily Dickenson poetry and short stories by other classic queer people. 

Then there were pages at the back, stupid really. Photos of them at the museum and the bookshop. Letters Fatin had written that were left unsent also scanned and added in. One after their first night, another after their date. She was so used to writing to Leah that the prospect of now texting her such thoughts seemed like they lacked meaning or impact by comparison.

It was a lot. 

Ridiculous really. 

But Leah Rilke deserved exactly that. 

Everything.

She printed out the document with the help of Edith’s friend at the stationary shop a few doors up. Formatted it into booklets that she returned with; methodically sewing then gluing them together whilst clamped. Adding the binding and a velvet bookmark before working on the clothbound cover. 

It wasn’t perfect, specs of glue dripped on occasion where it shouldn’t, the pages were minutely off-center when cut by the guillotine and her page numbering for some reason started at seven. 

Regardless, she hoped Leah would like it. 

“Ah, returning tomorrow?”

“Yes, I have a few hours spare, so I’ll attach the cover then.” 

“I promise not to peek.” 

“Good.”

“I hope you didn’t peek at Ida’s shit. She’s most protective.” 

“I dared not. Don’t even know what you’re talking about.” 

Edith let out a puff of air in a slight laugh, turning the page of her book. 

“I’m sure you don’t.” 

Fatin got in at ten, her mother shooting her a worried glance. 

“If you’re at a party I need to know Fatin, it’s the rules. I’m not hovering I just know young men and I care about your safety.” 

“Oh.” Fatin held up her hands, displaying her ruined acrylics, parts had been sanded and others mauled by PVA glue. “I wasn’t I was binding a book at Leah’s grandma’s store.” 

“What?” 

“Leah’s grandma happened to own this bookstore I brought her books from. She’s fun, more so like the golden girls than your typical pensioner. She’s letting me bind books there.” 

“Sorry, you’ve been buying and binding books for the girl you like?” 

Shit. Yeah, she hadn’t covered this. Whilst she and her mother were open about everything for some reason talking about Leah with anyone made heat rise to her cheeks and this stupid dopey smile spread across her face, and as such she avoided it. 

“I went on a date with her recently.” 

Rana smiled. “Did you have a good time?”

“I accidentally took her to a dead frog exhibit but Leah’s kind of out there and I think maybe she appreciated the accident?” 

“Dead frogs?” 

“Taxidermy. Posed as different iconic scenes.” 

“And this girl is still interested in you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, she must really like you,” Rana joked. 

“It was an accident.” 

“Yes, well, women expect more than most men. Deep emotion, romance, thought.” Rana took a sip of her coffee. “Dead frogs are an interesting take I must say.” 

“She loves frogs!” 

“Dead ones?” 

“I mean, yeah.” Fatin pulled up a photo, one of Leah posing with thumbs up by The Last Frogger piece. “See, she liked it.” 

Rana laughed. “I like her,” she said, “you should bring her over sometime.” 

“Ah yes, one date then meet the parents? Isn’t that like intense as hell?”

“I’m not going to question the girl like an FBI agent. I just wanted her to feel comfortable here. Fatin, if she is to be in your life, we will all welcome her. You can just watch television in the cinema room or whatever. You’re grown, I’m not here to treat you like a child.” 

“Okay, I’ll think about it.” 

“That’s all I ask. Anyway, tell me more about this, binding, was it?” 

“Yes.” 

“What are you making?” 

Fatin swallowed, folding her arms awkwardly. “A book, for Leah.” 

“Now that is more like it.” Rana beamed. “Romance.” 

“Gross.” 

“She’s very lucky. You should play for her sometime.” 

Fatin shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I doubt she’d like that; most people hate classical music.” 

“Firstly, everyone should appreciate classical music. Secondly, maybe find out what she likes and learn it. You have a couple of pieces that give you free rein to learn a song of your choice, why not pick something different?” 

“Because you always said classical is what the colleges want to see.” 

“Fatin, firstly that was your father. Secondly, it is what they want to see, and what they have. Why not show them -and Leah- something that makes you both smile? Music means so much more when it’s played from the heart.” 

“Ugh, you’re so gross today.” 

“I know. The burden of being a mother.” 

“I love you,” Fatin mumbled, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“Love you too dear.” 

Chapter Text

Fatin POV

Fatin arrived in the parking lot and immediately spotted Leah sitting in her car. She was staring blankly out the window, lost in thought until Fatin’s acrylics drummed against the dusty glass. 

It was odd seeing Leah like this. Panicking. Her usual laid-back self had been replaced by a tense jaw that worked as she ground her teeth, and a small patch missing in her brow from where fingers nervously plucked. 

“Mind if I hop in?” Fatin said once the window had rolled down halfway. 

“Sure, doors unlocked,” Leah replied, her voice raspier than usual. 

“Oookay,” Fatin said as she shut herself in the car with Leah; luckily no one noted her doing so. “What’s up? You look paler than usual and that’s saying something.” 

“I mean… we’re coming out today.” 

“Yes. We don’t have to though; there’s no pressure at all, if you’d rather wait, we wait.”

“I don’t want to wait.” 

“Okay, then we do this.” Fatin interlocked her fingers with Leah’s, sensing the hesitation from her death-like grasp. “There’s something else, what is it?” 

“I just…” Leah swallowed. “You’re just…” Her hand trembled slightly in Fatin’s. “I’m not you Fatin, I’m not interesting or popular and everyone is going to think that-”

“That I am so fucking lucky,” Fatin fished, brushing her thumb over her knuckles and then leaning in until their lips touched briefly, enough to hopefully reassure Leah. “You are interesting, and popularity is a bland concept that lacks originality. You’re beautiful, intelligent and my god can you kiss.” She grinned as Leah blushed and ducked her head. “Plus, I took you to a taxidermy frog exhibit so if one of us is a weirdo I think you’re in the clear babe.” 

Leah swallowed, lips parting as she stared at her intensely. “What?” 

“I like it when you call me that.” 

“Noted.” Fatin kissed her again, this time feeding a hand into her hair as she tasted the hint of cherry lip balm. “Come on then babe, time to rip off the band-aid.” 

“Maybe no one will notice,” Leah said as Fatin linked her fingers through her own, successfully making it to the corridor with only two people spotting them and sending them perplexed looks. 

“Which one’s your locker?” Fatin whispered in her ear, sending shivers down Leah’s spine. 

“Uh, this way.” Leah towed her through the masses, people beginning to gawk slightly now in confusion as to why Fatin was being led through the halls by a person few recognised. “This one.” 

“Okay.” Fatin waited until Leah had put her random crap away and grabbed her math textbook before shoving it in her tote. Once Leah turned around, Fatin was there, inches from her face with a hand bracketing the locker. “Breathe,” she instructed, tucking a piece of hair behind Leah’s ear. 

“I’m fine,” Leah assured, with a hand tentatively lifting to grasp at Fatin’s hip. 

“Oh yeah?” Fatin challenged with a smug smile, drawing a shy one from her. 

It was something she had loved about Leah from before she even knew her; the way her cheeks lit rosy like the first day of winter was each and every day or the way she dropped her head and chewed her lip at the slightest emotion be it joy or embarrassment. It was the way she let out a choked half laugh when anyone caught her off guard with a joke or comment and the way she shook her head when Fatin pointed any of the above out. Fatin loved the fact Leah wore each emotion so vibrantly, clear for all to see.

“Mhm. Really good actually.” Leah slumped less now, showing Fatin that she had the height advantage as she leaned down to kiss her. It wasn’t wild, it was ten seconds at most and fairly vanilla with Fatin grinning the whole time because she couldn’t quite contain the joy of people knowing she was Leah’s. 

“Oh, that good?” Fatin beamed.

“Fatin’s a lesbo?” One jock said as he passed at the top of his voice. 

“I’m pansexual you absolute prick.” 

“Does that mean you’re attracted to pans?” 

Fatin drew him in, whispering in his ear a reminder that she knew he slept with Kirsty last summer and made quite the embarrassing time of it. 

“That’s uh, cool. Totally cool. Good for you.” He coughed; bravado lost as he walked away. 

“Are you okay?” Leah mumbled. 

“I’ll be fine. We both will. News always gets boring after a week and honestly, it’s worth every second to get to do this-” She kissed her cheek, taking Leah’s hand. “Class m’lady?” 

“You’ve been spending too much time with my grandma.” 

The news did not die down. 

In fact, it grew, swirled into a typhoon of conversation because no one could figure out how someone had taken Fatin’s interest for more than five minutes. What started out as small whispers cascaded in a matter of hours.

“I’m just surprised, I mean we all know Fatin’s dad I just assumed she’d be like him. I mean, he was married to her mum though? Right? So she’ll probably just cheat like he did. Jadmani is hardly one for romance. Can you imagine? You’ve almost got to feel bad for that Leah girl.” The footballer -Zach who she had fucked last year- joked in the hallway, not realising who was standing behind him. 

“My god someone actually pinned that slut down? Holy shit.” Another laughed. 

Fatin’s stomach twisted, the knife wedged deep as she retrieved her textbook, hurrying to her lesson. 

“So, you’re like gay now? Is that why you never dated a guy because you were… you know,” Amanda said to her. 

She twisted uncomfortably, dropping her head to concentrate on her work. 

“My god for real? She’s dating her? Someone is needy enough to put up with that high-maintenance bitch?” 

Fatin locked herself in the toilet, breath heaving much too fast as she willed the tears not to fall down her face. 

Leah Rilke: Hey, I’m on the green. 

Leah Rilke: Held up at cello?

Leah Rilke: You good? Couldn’t find you at lunch. 

The texts were each scattered over the hour Fatin’s palms sweating as she forced her eyes shut. 

She skipped the last period; unfortunately meaning she had ditched Leah which was shitty but she just needed to escape. With each hour that passed, she felt the ringing in her ears grow louder, hands shaking slightly as she swallowed down the rising bile.

“Should I be worried? You seem to have a pattern emerging of ditching school for an old book shop?” Edith asked, pausing when she saw Fatin’s tear-stricken cheeks. 

“Um, is it cool if I head down to bind?” 

“Yes, dear.” 

Edith said nothing else and somehow immediately understood that Fatin was hardly up for a conversation at present. She did however stagger down the stairs thirty minutes later with a tea in her hand in an old ceramic mug with ‘writers camp 2018’ written across it, that she assumed belonged to Leah.

“It’s green tea with lemon, fresh of course I’m not an animal.”

“Thank you,” Fatin whispered from the desk where she sat, knees pulled up to her chest. 

“You look like shit by the way,” Edith said. 

Fatin laughed at that, she had caught a glimpse of her mascara back at the school in the bathroom mirror and her reflection resembled that of an unruly raccoon. 

“Yeah, not my day I guess.” 

“Do you want an ear to chew?” Edith asked, perching on a small rocking chair by the stairwell. 

“I came out today.” 

“And how did that go?” 

“Surprisingly bland,” Fatin admitted, bar a couple fly away comments there had been little focus on that aspect. 

“Oh? Upset it wasn’t as grand as planned?” 

“No.” Fatin chewed her lip. “More that my dad uh, I mean he’s not the greatest person. So-” 

“People are drawing parallels where they don’t even exist,” Edith noted. 

“Yes. I mean I guess there were some parallels, and even though I know I’m not like him the whole school thinks I’m this…” 

“Unattainable?” She guessed. 

“I think the words being thrown around were mostly ‘slut’, ‘high maintenance', and ‘bitch’,” Fatin whispered.

“Oh, dear.” Edith frowned. “They said that to you?” 

Fatin swallowed down the nausea shaking her head. “It’s fine. High school, right? Leah’s probably got it worse and I mean I left her to-”

“No, Leah will more than understand,” Edith argued. “Just spend the afternoon down here, she’ll be over later if you want me to send her down?” 

“I thought she wasn’t allowed down here?” 

“I guess exceptions can be made… once.” Edith smiled. 

“What if she touches Ida’s erotica?” 

Edith let out a cackle. “I think that would scar the poor girl for life.”

Fatin sets about placing and gluing the cover to the book, letting it dry on the counter hidden away in a corner. 

“You know I was beginning to think you died,” Leah said once she made it down the stairs, pausing when she saw Fatin’s cheeks streaked black. “Did I do something wrong?” Leah asked anxiously. 

“God no, you did nothing wrong at all,” Fatin answered automatically.

“Are you okay?”

Fatin nodded, trying to convince herself more than anyone. 

However, Leah didn’t buy it, picking up her bag. “How about we head back to mine, Netflix?” 

Now that? That sounded perfect. “Yeah, that sounds good.” 

Trailing her car back Fatin ended up sitting on Leah’s bed as Leah chucked some sweats and a vest at her. “No offence but what you’re wearing hardly seems comfortable.”

It wasn’t, then again Fatin rarely dressed for comfort outside the confines of her own home. “You would be right.” 

Biting her lip to suppress a grin as Leah blushed and turned, she kicked off her clothing pulling on the sweatpants that hung loosely across her waist into place and the baggy pyjama tee over her head. “I’m uh, decent.” 

Leah turned, eyes trailing over Fatin as she swallowed heavily before she moved to grab something. 

“Sit down,” Leah said, waiting for Fatin to sit before pulling a wipe out and passing it across Fatin’s cheeks, gently stripping her face of ruined makeup. 

It was an act so caring, a kind of care so deep she hadn’t felt since before her family had broken that she felt the tears welling silently once more, falling as Leah tilted her chin and continued as if Fatin wasn’t embarrassing herself completely right now. 

“Come on,” Leah rasped, waiting for Fatin to shimmy up against the headboard before she pulled a blanket over them, placing her laptop on their legs. “What do you want to watch?” 

“Something gay,” Fatin said. 

Leah pulled up Teenage Bounty Hunters, pulling Fatin on top of her slightly as a hand gently brushed through her hair, soothing the welling anxiety within her. 

She was calm, this comfort and warmth that Fatin craved. 

They made it up to halfway through the second episode before Leah spoke, “Want to talk about it?” 

Fatin sighed with the weight of the day’s words sinking back in. “I heard a lot of things about myself -many from people I thought were friends- that I would have rather not heard.” 

“Homophobic?” 

“Some but not many. More so opinions about my prior life choices or parallels to my father.” 

“You’re not your dad, Fatin.” 

“You can’t know that.” 

“I do.” Leah kissed her cheek. “I do, and you aren’t like that. I don’t think your dad is into frog taxidermy.” 

Barking out a laugh she gently swiped her. “Fuck off, I mean it.” 

“And so do I, because before I probably would have said the same things about you Fatin. But that was simply because I didn’t know you. I know you now, more so than I did before at least, and I can’t wait to find out more because you’re someone so incredibly special. You’re kind, caring, and I know for a fact that the people talking shit about you probably don’t even know the first thing about you.”

“How was your day? I’m sorry I left you.” 

“Hey, no. It’s fine. I mean next time text me because I obsess a bit and can spiral when I don’t know the facts, but my main worry was exactly this, and I understand that you needed to remove yourself temporarily. I would have done the same.” 

“Were you okay though?” 

“Surprisingly, yeah. I guess people assumed I was queer already from you know…”

“The men’s shirt over the crop top,” Fatin joked. 

“Mm, hardly surprising to anyone that I’m bi.” Leah laughed. “Plus, everyone kind of respected my space I guess. Probably scared you’d beat them up if they said shit.” 

Fatin would have. 

“I thought you have an open-door policy here?” Fatin asked, eyes drifting over to the closed door. 

“I think they trust me a bit, plus I’m eighteen and you can’t get me pregnant so… they relaxed the rules a bit.” 

“When do they get home?” 

“Dad will be home, but I texted him to let him know you were here and that you probably needed some space away from the interrogation mode today.” 

“Thank you,” Fatin spoke against her neck. 

“No problem.” 

Fatin grasped her collar, pulling Leah down until lips met her own. 

They had kissed before but not like this. Fatin was emotional, chest tight as her lips worked against Leah with her hand bunching so tightly in her shirt as if she was scared to let her go. Leah moaned against her, a light whimper as she pulled Fatin onto her lap, tongue meeting her own before Leah bit her lip and tugged. 

She let herself be lost to it for five minutes, maybe ten. Let the world slip away as Leah kissed her as she cried, kissed away the tears on her cheek, and never once mentioned them. Instead, Leah told her how good she was over and over, how lucky she was and how much she couldn’t wait to find out more about Fatin. 

“Kiddo, there’s food downstairs for the two of you,” Kurt yelled through the door, Fatin quickly leaping off from Leah like she had been burnt. 

“Hungry?” 

Fatin’s stomach rumbled on cue, the pair laughing as Leah stood, again grabbing a wipe and passing it over Fatin’s face before passing her a tissue. “Come on.” 

Kurt merely raised a hand as they got to the bottom of the stairs, Fatin nervously mumbling a ‘hi’ because she never did this.

Luckily, he seemed happy to give Fatin and Leah some space today but she knew at some point they would have to talk. Fatin didn’t do talking to or meeting parents, but she also figured if she could handle Edith surely she could handle any of the Rilkes. 

“Here.” Leah shoved a fry in her mouth grinning as Fatin chewed. 

They ended up eating in Leah’s room and watching another episode until it got to the point where Fatin had to go home. 

“Keep them for now, I’ll grab them next time I see you,” Leah said in regard to her clothing that currently still adorned Fatin’s small frame.

“Okay, night.” 

“Text me when you’re home and drive at the speed limit.” Leah smiled. 

"I always drive at the speed limit," Fatin argued. 

Leah simply rose her brow, knowing that wasn't true.

“Fine, I will.”

Chapter Text

Fatin POV

The next day was easier. 

For one, Fatin was prepared this time around for what was being said and had found her confidence enough to snipe back at anyone she caught commenting on either her or Leah. 

There was a hubbub of chatter in the cafeteria as Fatin laced her fingers through Leah’s but it all but died down by the time she had sat on the green, meeting Ian for the first time. 

Ian was the male counterpart to Leah; book obsessed, quiet, and shy. He had a distinct presence to him like the way he flailed around as if he had little control over his limbs and the way his voice climbed so loud when he talked about certain subjects, but Fatin appreciated it. Ian made Leah laugh even if Fatin didn’t understand half the words that flew out of his mouth like ‘orc’ and ‘centaur’. 

It wasn’t easy, certain flyaway comments still cut deep like sharp shards of glass flying at her from all angles; even those she’d considered friends previously. However, as the day progressed her skin toughened, and the comments fell away or became bland and boring because as Fatin pushed Leah up against her car after school, she knew Leah was worth every single shard. 

“Hey.” Fatin leaned up to kiss her, grinning as Leah slipped a hand into her rear pocket. “Oh, kinky babe.” 

“Shut up. I need to help my grandma with a shipment, but you’re welcome to join if you don’t mind sitting around for an hour or so. Then we can head back to yours or mine.” 

“You’d be willing to meet my mother?” 

“Of course.” Leah laughed. “I’ve already met her a couple of times at fundraisers so I’m a little scared to be honest, your mum is…” 

“Forthright?” 

“She’s very you.” 

“What the fuck? I am not like my mother,” Fatin groaned, dropping her head back. 

“Oh, you are. Very much so. I used to be so scared of you before I got to know you,” Leah admitted. 

“Because I come across a total bitch?” Fatin winced. 

“No, because you come across as talented, beautiful, and confident. That’s not something to be ashamed of, you know. That people are scared of you because you’re someone to admire.” 

Shaking her head, she ducked her chin into Leah’s neck. 

“See, such a softie,” Leah said, moving to kiss Fatin’s cheek. “Plus, we can’t avoid meeting each other’s parents for ages. And I don’t feel like any of them can be worse than my grandma.” 

“Edith isn’t that bad.” 

“That’s because you’re like, weirdly similar.”

Fatin rolled her eyes, opening Leah’s car door for her as Leah stepped into her run-down Honda. 

“Oh, my granddaughter and her mysterious lady lover hath arrived.” 

“Gross,” Leah groaned. “Can you not?” 

“Not what?”

“Harass her not even thirty seconds into walking into this place.” 

“On the contrary,” Edith said, “Fatin here has been harassing myself for months. The stress I faced trying to decode who her mystery interest was only to find out she was blood of my own. Shocking. Didn’t even ask me for your hand in marriage don’t you know.” 

“Fuck my life,” Leah mumbled. “I’m going to unbox the shipments as quickly as I possibly can.” 

“Do you want a hand?” Fatin asked. 

“No, you’re out here helping me kid.” Edith grinned. 

“Good luck with her.” 

“My granddaughter seems to fear leaving you alone with me.” 

“Mysterious lady lover?” Fatin asked, brow raised in question. 

“It gets awfully boring here, embarrassing my granddaughter is half of my year’s fun. The other half of my joy was bingo, but Covid apparently wiped out half the attendees.” 

Fatin stared at her in horror. 

“Oh no, not death. Most of them decided to grab life by the bollocks after being confined for so long and went off out gallivanting across the world like twenty-year-olds as if they had seen the light.” 

“Thank fuck.” 

“A couple did pass away though. Like Irene, she was quite the bitch though so seldom missed.” 

“Remind me never to go to bingo.” 

“It’s a brutal sport.” Edith nodded. “The number callers are always out for blood.” Moving from behind the desk she passed a small box to Fatin. “You can take this downstairs, I’m assuming you’re off to there anyway.” 

Fatin hoped that Leah’s book was ready, the glue was still setting last time she was here. 

Making her way down the stairs she walked over to the old workbench, picking up the book now dry and complete. 

She swallowed as she placed it in her tote, hidden away from prying eyes, and prayed that Edith hadn’t got curious and taken a sneaky glance. 

Yet Fatin felt like they had an understanding. Fatin left Ida’s vintage porn well and truly alone and Edith left Fatin’s love letter to itself on the side. 

“That was quick,” Edith noted when she got back up the stairs. “I take it your love letter is complete?” 

“You read it?” Fatin asked as fear swirled nausea in her stomach.

“Of course not, as much as it intrigues me, I’d rather the mushy or insidious parts of my granddaughter's love life remain a mystery to me. However, you’ve spent days binding that for her so regardless of what is in it the act itself is quite the declaration.” 

Fatin rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” 

Edith smiled, peering back at her book. “You’re good for her, Fatin.” 

Leah ended up trailing Fatin’s car back to her house, Fatin walking to knock on her car window when they were in her driveway and Leah was yet to emerge. 

She tugged on the handle and then knelt by the open door. 

“We don’t have to do this.” 

“My house is the size of your driveway.” 

Fatin grinned. “Actually, we’re downsizing soon.” 

“As if that will make much difference. You’ll be going from a castle to a mansion.” 

“I thought you were worried about my mother not the square mileage of my residence.” 

Leah’s mouth was still agape as she took in the view before her. Yes, the Jadmani residence was quite something and even Fatin’s rich friends had been shocked so Leah’s reaction was hardly surprising. 

Yet Fatin chewed her cheek, hoping that the sight didn’t alter any of Leah’s opinions of her. She had done her best to show there was more to her than her parent’s money, that she had some sort of depth but as Leah looked at her home she could almost feel the threads of her ideas being tugged at the seams, ready to unravel the image back into place she had tried so hard to squash. 

“Sorry, it’s just a lot.” 

“Did you want to head to yours instead?” 

Leah seemed to snap out of her focus at that moment, eyes flitting to Fatin’s features as she noted the worry that drenched them. 

“Of course not, let’s go meet your mum.” 

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Fatin offered her hand for Leah to take. 

“You’re so chivalrous you know.” 

“What?” 

“You’re always helping me out of cars.” Leah laughed, leaning down to kiss her briefly. 

“Mm, no come back,” Fatin whined, tugging at her t-shirt as Leah pulled away. 

“Fatin, I’d rather your mother’s introduction to me wasn’t my tongue down her daughter's throat,” Leah stated, her thumb brushing Fatin’s lip in a way that had her stomach contorting into need. 

But then Leah pulled her thumb back and began walking to her door. 

“You can’t just do that and leave,” she yelled attempting to catch up with her. 

“Mum, I’m home,” she called out. Fatin had chosen not to let her know that Leah was coming over for fear her mother would have gone overboard and cooked five courses before she even got back. 

Though her family had been tense at times -expectations and disappointment- there was also so much love. Normally shown through food and family moments around the table when it was agreed they wouldn’t bring her cello playing up. It was her dad laughing as her brothers fought over the last dish and her mum shaking her head as she beamed at them all. It was love, in a sense, before the illusion of such crumbled in the palm of her hand, slipping through her fingers like sand. 

“She’s normally in the kitchen making my brother's lunch this time of evening so she should be too occupied to interrogate you.” 

“Interrogate me?” Leah rasped in worry. 

“Fatin, where did you leave the-”

Rana paused when she saw the girl standing beside Fatin. 

And Fatin knew why; she never brought anyone here. Aside from a friend here or there who waited in the living room as she grabbed her shit, she never really brought anyone deeper into the house. Fatin stayed in the right wing; the living room or cinema room and kept her friends separate from her parents, mortified when she had once argued with her dad about a missed rehearsal in front of Colby. 

Yet here Fatin stood with her girlfriend at her side and their hands intertwined, Leah's tensing hard around her own, gripping it with the strength of rigor mortis like meeting her mother had stopped Leah’s heart. 

“You must be Leah,” Rana said, smiling at Leah before looking at Fatin with a look that said, ‘I’ll behave for now, but we will be discussing this later.’ 

“Um… Yes. Hi, it’s nice to meet you.” Leah rattled off with the chaotically awkward flare Fatin had come to love. 

“Would you like dinner?” Rana asked. 

“Oh, no it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to put you out and it’s fairly late. My grandmother was holding us hostage at the bookstore.” 

“We could eat,” Fatin said to her mother, having heard the noises Leah’s stomach was making earlier. “Just something small please, I don’t want Leah driving home too late.” 

“She’s welcome to stay if she wishes,” Rana added. 

Leah’s cheeks grew pink at that, Fatin already tugging her along whilst shooting her mother a look. “Thanks.” Fatin narrowed her eyes at her, Rana lifting her arms in a ‘what?’ motion. 

Fatin knew what her mother probably thought; she slept around, and her parents were well aware of it. Most of the parents of her clique were on the parent’s board and gossip spread like wildfire among them so they were not disillusioned with how Fatin spent her time at parties. 

What her mother was out of the loop with was the fact she didn’t see Leah like that. Had no intention of rushing things because Leah deserved to be wooed and loved without expectation. She knew Leah was not like her and in truth even Fatin didn’t want to fall into bed too fast because the idea left her fearing perhaps things between them would break if not handled with care. 

“You don’t have to stay over. I can even drive you back if you want, then pick you up in the morning to grab your car.” 

Leah looked around her room, fingers trailing lightly over her cabinets as she walked over to her music area, hands running across the wooden neck of her cello. 

“Did you not want me to stay?” Leah asked, brow furrowed as she looked up. 

“No, I do. I just didn’t want you to think I want more, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or rushed.” 

“I’ve had sex before Fatin.” Leah laughed. “Not much so I guess I’m not like, well versed in the ways of things, but I’m not like completely disillusioned to the fact people have sex or the fact you like sex.” 

Fatin swallowed. “I don’t want that.” 

“What?” 

“Sex,” she clarified. “I want to wait a while before we…” She swallowed again, folding her arms, and shifted uncomfortably. “Sex with random people was always easy back then because it was how I coped, get made to do a recital I didn’t want to? Fall into bed. Parents have a messy divorce? Fall into bed. Father threatening again to send me to Muslim boarding school? Sure, more sex.” 

Walking she took a seat on her bed, running her hands through her hair. “You’re not like that. Firstly, you mean more to me than I can explain. I don’t want to rush this because I don’t feel like I need to. Secondly, you intimidate me a little. In a good way, but I kind of need to ease myself into being ready to do that with you because it’s intimidating as fuck to me, the prospect of doing that with someone who means so much. It’s not meaningless sex. It’s something huge and I’m still digesting how to handle that.” 

“Fatin-”

“And on top of that, you deserve so much, Leah. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable at all when we do that. I want it to feel right, with no worry. And I can tell you were worried because as soon as my mother said that you did the thing you do when you’re nervous where you pick at your brow.” 

Leah dropped her hand from her eyebrow, taking a seat by Fatin on her bed and looking at her. “I don’t want to have sex yet either. That’s not what I…” Leah swallowed. “I think it’s more me telling you that you don’t have to treat me like glass because I lack experience, and I’m guessing you thought I was a virgin -I mean everyone does- which only puts more pressure on you to make it ground-breaking or some shit. In reality, I have had sex, so you don’t have to worry about the whole perfect first-time thing. Truth be told the other times certainly weren’t.” 

She laughed, taking Fatin’s hand. “But at the same time, I do want to wait because I’m kind of one for commitment and all that shit. And honestly, I’m kind of shy about that kind of thing which I’m sure you’ve more than guessed... even talking about this is a lot for me. I just like you a lot, and the idea of you seeing me…” Leah chewed her lip. “As much as I like you, this is still new, and it takes me time to adjust to people seeing me that way.” 

“I feel the same, not in the past obviously but you’re different. I just want to take things at our pace, you know?” 

“I know. However, if it’s cool I would like to stay over tonight; to sleep. I kind of like having you near me and I haven’t been sleeping much of late, plus my dad doesn’t like me driving late at night.”

“That’s…” Fatin leaned forward to kiss her, palm resting on her cheek as she hummed contently against the feel of lips prying at her own. “I would love that.” 

“Okay, do you have some pyjamas I can steal after dinner though because sleeping in jeans does not sound comfortable at all.” 

“Yes.” Fatin grinned. 

Chapter Text

Fatin POV

“So, I have you to thank for Fatin’s lack of partying lately?” Rana said as they tucked into their food. 

“Really Mum?” Fatin groaned, shooting her daggers. 

“What? I need to thank the girl who has my daughter in bed at a respectable time without regular weekday hangovers. It’s nice to see you caring for yourself the past few months.” 

“Oh, we’ve only been dating for less than a month.” 

“Yes, but before that, she was cooped up annotating books I hear.” 

“Mum!” 

“You missed parties to annotate the books for me?” 

Fatin swallowed. “I guess I haven’t partied in a few months, but I had tonnes of cello shit too, obvi.” 

“You haven’t been to a party in months?” Leah asked with a frown. 

“No, as I said, I was super busy.” Fatin quickly deflected the question by following that with, “Leah’s on the writing track.” 

“Oh, that’s good to hear. Very studious I take it?” 

“I guess. I just like books so it’s not really something I have to study for. My grandma lets me steal whatever from the store so I just kind of grew up with my nose between the pages. The store always gets pretty quiet on weekdays and there was little else to do.” 

“I’ll have to meet this grandmother of yours one day, I seem to keep hearing about her.” Rana pointedly looked at Fatin. 

“Trust me you don’t want her and Fatin in a room together.” 

“Do they not get on?” 

“No, they get on too well. It’s like listening to twins conversing.”

“I just put up with her antics,” Fatin said.

“Peas in a pod,” Leah clarified. “I’m pretty sure Fatin spends more time at that place than myself, and I work there.” 

Rana laughed, looking at Fatin with something she couldn’t quite place. 

“I found a house by the way.” 

It was so jarring a statement that Fatin dropped her fork. She hadn’t expected her mother to commit to this in a matter of weeks. “What?” 

“A house. I like it, but I wanted to check that you do too. I can get you the keys to look around tomorrow if you like. The house is empty, the owners moved to England last month, but it seems nice. Closer to the school.” 

Nodding Fatin picked up her fork again. As the months passed her disdain for this house only grew, the walls feeling so hollow that they only echoed the presence of the ghosts that lingered in the house further. Memories steeped in bitter resentment drenched the place with discomfort. 

“Sure, I’ll have a look after school.” 

“I’ll text you the address.” Rana smiled at her. 

Dinner passed peacefully, and Fatin was now in her room with her eyes averted as Leah got dressed. 

“I’m decent.” 

“You’re always decent.” Fatin winked at her. 

“How the hell did I end up with such a tacky girlfriend?” 

Fatin stilled, her hands clenched in the sheets as they stared at one another, panic rising to Leah as soon as she realised. 

Girlfriend. 

Fatin let the words roll around in her mind, the idea of being Leah’s in that way. It left her fingers tingling, heart rapid as her throat grew dry. 

Yes, she liked the sound of it very much. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean it?” Fatin asked, hurt evident even if she tried to mask the rejection. 

“No, I mean…” Leah began to pace, Fatin so entrapped by the sight of her in her shorts and baggy music camp t-shirt. “I just… One of us should ask first right?”

“Leah?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I would really like it if my girlfriend got into bed because I could do with both cuddles and some sleep. Also, babe, you look tired as fuck.” 

Leah dropped her chin, blushing. “Okay then.” 

“Any time today, Rilke.” 

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Leah bumbled, hopping into bed beside Fatin and opening up her arms. 

“Leah,” 

“Don’t even try to deny that you’re the little spoon here we both know you are.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Aw, come here.” 

“Bitch.” Fatin found herself complying though, breath growing slow as she got comfortable against her, nose nestled into her girlfriend’s neck. “Night.” 

“Night.

She dropped her head slightly, listening to the steady thump of Leah’s heart as she let her eyes drift shut. 

Fatin hadn’t slept that well in years. When she awoke she nuzzled into the soft pillow beneath her before realising it was oddly squishy and- yes that was Leah’s boob. 

“Babe?” 

Oh shit, she was awake.

“Yeah?” 

“That’s my boob.” 

“I realise that now.” Fatin looked up in fear, letting out a breath when she saw the amusement written across her girlfriend’s face. 

“You’re so clingy in your sleep.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Fatin,” Leah gestured to themselves, currently intertwined with Fatin wrapped tightly around her like a koala. 

“You’re warm,” Fatin stated, dropping her head again and listening to the comforting thrum of Leah’s pulse. 

Leah laughed, pulling her on top of her before pulling Fatin upwards for a brief kiss. 

“I haven’t even brushed my teeth.” Fatin pushed Leah back against the pillow. 

“Nu-uh, come here.” Leah pulled her down, kissing her so gently as if Fatin were made of glass. A hand dipped lower past her back, grabbing her ass as Fatin hummed contently. For a while, it was slow and leisurely kisses and the filtering of morning light through her curtains. Leah’s hair splayed beneath her as they laughed and kissed, Fatin losing herself to the calm of being in Leah’s arms. Yet at some point, the calm faded away, perhaps when Leah jokingly rolled on top of her, and Fatin found her breath catching. 

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Love, Fatin thought. Because she loved the girl above her more than any word could explain. 

Instead, she pulled her down, lips hungry with the need to feel her close, to smother those emotions slightly with even more love. 

Leah was only taken aback for a moment, slipping a thigh between her legs as the kiss grew to more than calm, now a simmering passion. It was the heady feeling of Leah’s weight pressed against her, the feel of Leah’s messy morning hair in her hand as a tooth sunk into her lip. It was content sighs and the rapid beat of her heart. 

Leah, Leah, Leah. 

Fatin sighed when Leah pulled away, breath heavy and eyes dark. 

I love you remained on the tip of her tongue. 

“Hey.” Leah grinned up at her girlfriend. 

“Hey, we should get up.” 

“Ugh, yeah. I should head back and grab my shit for school.” 

Fatin pouted, pulling her back down for another brief kiss. “Fine,” she grumbled, feeling the drop of her heart as Leah stood, already missing her against her, the smell of vanilla and the warmth of arms holding her tight. It was a level of safety she hadn’t quite felt before, comfort. Hard to explain when she didn’t know why that was. 

The truth she would come to later realise was that Fatin, although only eighteen, had already found the person she would one day call home. 

“Ah, she returns!” Edith grinned. “Give her the book yet?” 

“Not yet.” It was still burning a hole in her tote. 

“Here to use the basement?” 

“No,” Fatin paused. “What time do you finish? And would you by any chance like to scope out my potential new home with me?” 

“You’re moving?” 

“It’s closer to Leah and the school so yes I’m inclined to agree with my mother’s choice but I don’t want to move somewhere just as hollow as where I’m at now.” 

“The shops been particularly empty today, let me get my coat.” 

Driving with Edith was strange yet felt like they had been there a million times before as they chatted shit about politics and celebrities, Fatin filling Edith in on the entirety of the Fletcher TikTok drama before they manage to arrive at the place that wasn’t too far from the book store either, maybe a fifteen-minute drive up the hill. 

“Are you getting any ex-murderer house vibes?” Fatin asked as she gazed around the living room. 

“No but I am getting built by a Republican vibes,” Edith said, as she stared at the stag head on the wall. 

“Right?” Fatin agreed. “But other than that, any bad creepy feelings?” 

“Ah because I am one who regularly communicates with the spirits.”

Fatin shot her a look. 

“It seems nice.” Edith moved onto the kitchen. It was far smaller than their current house, grand yes, but only had three spare rooms one of which would be her mother’s for office work and two for guests. There were two living rooms and a spare room downstairs also which meant they would still have a -far smaller- cinema room and one for the boy's gaming stuff. 

It was doused in warm light, covered in sky-high wooden beams that ran across the room corners and ceiling almost giving it a barn or cabin feel. There were plenty of windows that looked out onto a garden filled with trees and plants (they would have to hire a gardener because none of them had a green thumb) and the bedrooms upstairs were smaller, but big enough. One even had a balcony window, one that Fatin could see her playing beside as she practiced, looking out onto the trees at night, or watching Leah as she read there. 

“You like it,” Edith noted. 

“It’s much nicer than where we are living now.” 

“I thought you said you were downsizing?” 

“Some places feel too big. And also, it’s so…” 

“Sterile?” 

“Very. Minimalist and ‘modern’ but in that sense where it's almost in shades of grey, bland, and needing something. Anything.”

“Then you should probably call your mother and tell her yes.” 

“But what if-” 

“What is your heart telling you? When you stepped in here what did you feel?” 

Comfort, almost like waking up against Leah this morning. The same ease washed over her. 

“I’ll call her.”

“I thought you were taking me home?” Edith asked as they pulled into a market. 

“No.” 

“Ahh, she is a murderer.” 

“Oh my god grab your damn coat, come on.” 

“Where are we?” 

Fatin towed her towards a stand. 

Natasha’s Cheeses

“You took me to look at cheese?” 

“Could we try some samples?” 

“Sure Fatin.” 

“Oh, come here often do you?” Edith asked. 

“It’s great cheese and I often have to pick up loads of food for food platters at my mother’s house viewings.” 

“That sounds like some fancy-as-shit house viewings.” 

“They are, now eat.” Fatin gestured to the cheese board in front of her with numerous testers. 

Edith was silent as she ate, too silent almost. 

“Like any?” 

“That one,” Edith said, “takes me back. It tastes awfully like the one my ex used to serve me in her French onion soup recipe.”

“Gruyere,” Natasha said. “It’s often used because it melts nicely. It also has a nuttier flavour that pairs extremely well with a good red wine from Oliver’s stall.” 

“I’ll take a quarter wheel, and could I also get two of the camembert and one of the Wookey Hole cave aged quarters?” 

“Of course.” 

Edith went to pull out her purse and she stopped her. 

“I’m not letting a twelve-year-old pay for my goods,” she said with a shake of her head. 

“Firstly, I’m eighteen, secondly-” Fatin handed her card over and entered her pin, removing it from the machine. “You let me use all your binding materials. It’s one slab of cheese, not a Porsche.” 

Edith laughed, shaking her head. “Fine.” 

They ended up wandering around the place for a while, Edith picking up several things from local farmers, grinning away as she was in her element whilst indulging in her bartering sassy side that made Fatin laugh. 

When they got back to the store, Edith paused at her door. “Oh, and Fatin?” 

“Yes?” 

“Grow some ovaries and give my granddaughter that book you spent sixty years making.” 

“Asshole.” 

“You know I’m right.”

Chapter Text

Fatin POV

“Babe, where do you want this box?” Leah asked as her head popped around the door. 

They had moved weeks later. Rana had all the connections to push through the sale of their own house -taking a slight hit at its value for the chance at getting the hell out of there sooner- and as both buyers were paying in cash, the sale had quickly gone through. 

It seemed Rana was just as uncomfortable in their old house as Fatin, and when her mother was determined she could fly through with a decision full speed ahead, meaning that day when Fatin had called her she had already made an offer by evening. 

“Oh, that’s sheet music so just in the corner with my cello shit.” Leah put the box down, coming to an abrupt holt when she saw a book on Fatin’s desk, her name on the front. 

For Leah

Selected Poems and Works Anthology 

“Fatin, what is that?” 

Fatin stood behind her, wrapping her hands around her waist. 

“I read the final book you annotated back last night.” 

“You did?” 

“Yeah.”

Fatin had held her breath at the time, gaze trailing over the annotations Leah had left her in the last book she left unread for far too long.

‘The saddest thing about knowing you wrote this is that it’s you. And now I know that this is likely a joke, yet it doesn’t change the fact that like Emily and Sue a love already resides there, probably had since the first book but with each, it grew. I don’t love, and now that I have opened myself up to it, I feel like it could have been stomped out before it ever began. I really hope that if this is a joke, you see now that it wasn’t to me. And truly that prospect is kind of crushing.’

‘You know I see you in the halls so often and I don’t know why I always find you intriguing -we never even talk- yet my eyes always follow you through the cracks in the door to music as you play. Always remain entrapped as you perform in assemblies or even times when I’ve walked into the school bathroom to you applying lipstick. And I realise how stupid that is, but I’m also at a point where maybe there’s one grain of me hoping that you meant it on some level. One grain that’s pushing me to make the questionable decision of honesty right now no matter how large the potential wound it opens. And yet? That one grain is undoubtedly worth it.’

Fatin’s hands tightened around her girlfriend’s waist as she pressed a kiss to her neck. “I actually finished that weeks ago, but I was kind of scared to give it to you.” 

“Why were you scared?”

Fatin handed it to her. “You can sit on my bed and read for a bit. I need to go yell at the movers handling my cello gear.” Kissing her neck again and taking a deep breath she left her, book in hand. 

The reason Fatin hadn’t handed it over was that the book she had bound was so obviously a declaration of love. After Edith had said exactly that, Fatin had opened it up, realising the extracts she used painted a seemingly obvious picture. 

Fatin was totally, completely entranced with love for Leah. 

When she made it back up to her room an hour later, Leah was there still. Her cheeks were striped with tears, eyes red and she only looked about seventy percent through.

“Hey,” Fatin said, pausing to lean against the doorway. 

Watery eyes met her own, Leah gently shut the book and walked over to her quietly. 

She leaned down and melded her lips with Fatin’s, Leah tugging her ever closer with a firm palm on her back; nails biting into the flesh around her spine. 

Leah tasted salty with tears that Fatin kissed from her cheeks, thumbs brushing the new ones that dropped out of the way before she leaned back up, missing the way Leah’s mouth felt against her own. 

It was brimming with love, in care that Fatin ducked her head and kissed her neck. “I love you; you know?” Leah said, holding Fatin tight as she kissed her neck once more, freezing when the words filled the air between them. 

“I love you too.” She looked up, her own tears dropping down her cheeks. “I think that was probably obvious from the book, but I figured you would like the confirmation.” 

“It was very fucking obvious.” Leah laughed. 

They finished unloading the boxes into her new room and Fatin stared at the wardrobe the movers had left on the floor. It was new, most of her furniture was. More olden feeling chunky wood pieces that would make their home feel more like Edith’s bookstore or Leah’s house. All mismatched yet perfectly complimentary of one another in their own way. 

“Have you got a toolbox?”

“What?” Fatin asked. 

“A toolbox, I’ll put together your cupboard.” 

Fatin did in fact have a toolbox, but she also had paid people coming to assemble everything for her, however, she quickly sent off a text to them, realising that she was close to missing out on the opportunity to lust after her girlfriend assembling furniture.

“Yeah, we do.” 

It was in fact worth cancelling them. By the second drawer set Leah was sweating, screwdriver in hand and Fatin was so incredibly grateful for the sight.

“Stop eyeing me up and put your cello shit away.” 

“Stop looking like an edible carpenter and I might,” Fatin shot back. 

Leah walked over to her, lifting her up by the legs as she screeched, chucking her onto the bed and placing a single kiss to her navel. “Put your shit away babe. I would like to be able to sleep by a reasonable time tonight and we both know neither of us will sleep surrounded by boxes.” 

Leah Rilke was unfairly attractive. 

“Oh well look, if it isn’t the girl who finally got her shit together.” 

“Cut it out Edith,” Fatin warned. “Where is your eligible granddaughter, I came to spoil her.” 

“You spoilt me yesterday,” Leah said, coming out of the stacks. 

“Really, you’re going to say no?”

“Oh no, I want to be spoiled. Just let me grab my stuff from out back.” Leah kissed her once, briefly but enough to leave Fatin grinning. 

“You’re so embarrassing,” Edith said with a smile. “Someone would think you want to marry the girl or something.” 

Fatin launched a pin badge at her. “Shh!” 

“Oh what, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about college yet?” 

Fatin had; she had decided on attending the same college as Leah as she was a shoo-in for Berkley, and it wouldn’t be hard for her to get a place after her offer from Juilliard. Her mother frowned at first but quickly told her that she didn’t care as long as she studied something alongside music like business. 

Fatin had already scheduled a week off to go check it out though she was yet to tell Leah that.

“We haven’t been together that long.” 

“And yet, you’ve been stalking her for years.” She grinned. 

Fatin rolled her eyes; her girlfriend had found the ‘Leah drawer’ in her room the other week when Fatin had asked her to grab a shirt. It had been one of the most mortifying moments of her life. 

“Babe?” 

“Yeah?” Fatin turned the light off in the bathroom, frozen in the doorway as she saw the paper in Leah’s hands. 

“Why do you have a random paper I was on the cover of from like, years ago?” 

“Oh, I…” Fatin shifted awkwardly. “Fuck my life that’s embarrassing huh?” 

“Why do you have this?” 

“I found you interesting, I guess. For a while. Though I didn’t think that it meant anything though, I just thought that you were… intriguing?” She walked towards the bed, dropping down beside Leah. “I didn’t know that I was pan until maybe the second book. I mean, I did realise a bit, but I didn’t want to accept it because if I was pan then I knew I was attracted to you. And I wasn’t in any kind of place to be a stable girlfriend for a long time.” 

“So you kept my paper clipping?” 

“Obvi.” 

“Oh, you are Joe Goldberg!” Leah grinned. “Is this Stockholm syndrome? I’m actually feeling kind of hot over this.” 

“This, this makes you feel hot and bothered? Creepy newspapers?” 

“Definitely, it’s doing all sorts of things for me.” 

“You’re so fucking weird.” 

“At least I didn’t keep the paper.” 

Leah went to chuck it in the bin. 

“No!” Fatin yelled, leaping on top to straddle her. “Do not throw that away. It’s cherished.” 

“Fatin! It’s the worst photo of me in existence, I personally saw to half of the copies being burned.” 

“No, Leah!” She pushed her back, tickling her until Leah released it, screaming. “Ha!” Fatin was breathing heavily as she smoothed out the wrinkled paper. 

“Are you kidding me?” 

“No. I will genuinely throw a full-on temper tantrum if you even consider harming that again.” 

“But I look gross.” 

“I mean, it is a really shit photo.” 

“See!”

“But I still love it. So, hands off bitch.” 

“Ugh, fine.” 

“Leah told you?” 

Edith grinned wickedly. “Remember when you had the audacity to tell me you didn’t have a thing for my granddaughter?” 

“We’re only talking months ago; my memory isn’t as gone as yours.” 

“We’re at square one again. Because that smile says,” 

“That smile says what?” Leah asked. 

“Nothing. Edith here was being a total bitch.” 

Edith burst into laughter. 

Whilst Leah had learned not to question their relationship, Fatin and Edith’s back and forth still left her speechless. 

“Okay. We’re going out. Bye.” 

“Oh, it appears she’s summoning me.” Fatin beamed. “Bye!” 

Fatin ended up taking her for coffee before she drove them back to Leah’s.

“Stop overthinking.” 

“What if they hate me?” 

“I think my grandma has already given you many a glowing review, plus you’ve met them.” 

“Yes, but never have we had dinner with them, I’m still yet to have a full conversation with your dad because he’s normally out when I’m here.” 

“He will love you,” Leah promised. “Come on, time to face the music.” 

Kurt Rilke as it turned out, was very much like Edith. 

“You know we have an entire album full of Leah photos she asked us to burn that we dubbed the burn book.” 

“You kept those?” Leah yelled. 

“Oh yes, for a time like this, when you finally met someone who you love so that we could test how strong that love is.” 

“How bad can they be?” 

Very, it turns out.

Fatin peruses through the book gasping when she gets to the juiciest part. Leah, a blue streak in her hair, nails painted black and her smaller self in flared goth trousers and a Bring Me the Horizon shirt. “I’m sorry what?” 

“Leah’s emo phase, Maryann how old was she again?” 

“Oh, there’s a good few photos in there,” Maryann said. “The phase started at eight when she listened to Avril Lavigne at her aunt’s house. Then it went on until she was roughly twelve, around the time she really got into poetry and classical literature.” 

Fatin flicked through photo after photo, snapping a picture of one and setting it as her background when Leah wasn’t looking. 

Oh, this was gold. 

“So where are you going to college Fatin, Juilliard right?” 

“Juilliard,” Leah confirmed, stiffly but with a forced smile like she was proud even though the distance would suck. 

“Actually, I recently got into Berkley.” 

Leah’s head whipped around; brow pinched. “You’re mum said that you-”

“Yes, ages ago and it wasn’t my choice. Berkley has several other great programs I can look into whilst studying music and it has its perks.” 

“Its perks?” 

“For one an ex-goth goes there that I’m quite obsessed with.” 

Leah blushed but remained quiet with her lips parted in shock that Fatin wasn’t joking about this. 

“If it’s not okay I’m sure I can…”

“It’s so okay,” Leah said, eyes damp. “It’s really, seriously okay.” 

Fatin beamed at the joy on her face, as well as the relief written on Leah’s parents. Leah had been worried about college, she wasn’t overly social, and Ian wouldn’t be there either. It was a prospect so daunting Fatin had caught her crying time and time again, slipping into moments of worry and angst. 

Leah had always struggled with anxiety, but the pressure of exams -as well as the biggest prospect of change- left her falling apart piece by piece. Fatin liked the fact that for once she could help her collect them, piecing her back together. 

“I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure.” 

Ignoring the fact her parents were there, Leah planted a kiss on her mouth. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

Chapter Text

Fatin POV

College

“Leah, where do you want this box?” Fatin placed it down on the bed, noting a blonde who looked like a prime sorority candidate standing across from her with a cross dangling from her neck. “Oh, you are not Leah.” 

“Hi there, no I’m not. I mean clearly.” She gestured to herself. “I’m Leah’s roommate, Shelby. Shelby Goodkind.” 

The Texan twang and glimmer of pageant trophies had Fatin stilling because she didn’t know if Leah was out to her, let alone if the girl would be accepting. 

“I’m Fatin.” She left out the rest, standing awkwardly as she tapped her acrylics against one another.

“You seriously brought three fucking boxes of food,” a shorter brunette girl said, dropping a large box onto her bed filled with what appeared to be pumpkin pies and dinners. 

“My momma got carried away with the snacks and baked goods, and no food is as good as Texan food,” Shelby argued. 

“Just tell her to send you a Trader Joe’s gift card or some shit next time, that was so many stairs.” 

“And that is why I love you.” Shelby grinned. “Oh, Fatin, this is my girlfriend, Toni. Toni, this is Leah’s friend Fatin.” 

“I’m sorry you're gay? You?” Fatin asked, shocked. She was not one for stereotypes but still, the shock was there.

“If you’re going to be homophobic, I suggest you find somewhere else to hang out,” Toni said sharply. 

In what was perfect timing Leah walked in, pulling her girlfriend in for a kiss. “Hey babe.” 

“Hey, do you have any more stuff or am I off free?” 

“You carried like two boxes.” 

“Yeah, and they fucked with my acrylics,” Fatin groaned. 

“Wait you’re gay?” Toni asked. 

“Duh.” Fatin grinned. “Obvi not homophobic, just surprised to see Shelby is what with the…” 

“Cross?” 

“I meant more the pageant trophies lining the wall there. Southern pageant girls hardly scream queer.”

“Yeah, I think I was the only one.” Shelby laughed. 

“Right, we are off to go to the bookstore.” 

“Oh,” Fatin motioned towards the bookshelf. “I left you a few, you should be good for a couple of months.” 

Fatin had spent as much time as possible annotating books over the past month, stacking them up one after the other in dated order so that Leah would have something in case her mood got low. It was a mix of all genres, everything from fantasy to non-fiction, many of which Fatin had struggled with yet pushed through on, knowing her girlfriend would love them. 

“Are they all annotated?” 

“Obvi.” Fatin kissed her briefly, grabbing her purse. “However, I know there’s probably new releases you want so we may as well head down now.” Leah devoured books, even mid-study she was consuming two a week at minimum. Fatin loved it, being able to sit on her bed and scroll through her feed or watch a show as Leah pried through the pages, smiling, laughing, or crying over what lay written between. 

“God you really are gay.” Toni grinned. 

Her own roommate was incredibly chilled, letting Fatin take whichever bed she pleased with her only dorm stipulation being that on Tuesdays she wanted to watch Survivor reruns undisturbed. 

Dorothy -or Dot as her roommate corrected, smacking Fatin playfully whenever she used the full version- was insanely helpful. Always hit Fatin’s cheek with a pillow when she didn’t wake to her alarm, dropped her caffeine in a travel cup on her desk whenever she had an intense study session, and even told guys off for staring at Fatin’s ass whenever they went to parties. 

She also got on with Leah and already knew Shelby vaguely from school, the four of them getting on as slowly their group expanded to include others. Martha, Toni’s foster sister, Nora, Leah’s friend from literature class, and Rachel, Nora’s sister who knew Toni from the sports program.

The bookstore here didn’t have the same warmth as Edith’s but a small coffee shop they found above a vinyl store did. Fatin ended up putting in an application and landing a job there that filled her Sundays and left her at least partially self-sufficient. (Not much, but it felt nice to be able to buy Leah a cute ring or meal and know she’d worked for it.) 

But most of all, every Saturday at ten AM she would pull out her phone and open FaceTime, her and Leah making it routine to call Edith and update her on the goings on, the pair gave her a smartphone before they left as well as twenty pages of handwritten -very specific- instructions on its use. Though half the time they called her Edith’s camera would be flipped, instead showing them a view of her fluffy slippers and cats. 

Fatin falls into a content hum of belonging. Something she rarely felt in high school was now prevalent in her new life. She gets used to being near Leah, often, and Leah does the same with her. Whilst they have their time apart it feels so natural to fall into one another’s space, the two growing closer with each day that passed. 

Yet the thing that must still be noted is that Fatin did go on to hold up her end of the bargain with Edith. Every month she picks up a new book, annotates it with many a note, and doodles in the margins before leaving it under Leah’s pillow for her to find. 

And every month, Leah thanks her with more love than she thought she ever deserved.

After College

“I wrote you something.”

“Another book?” Leah asked, walking into their apartment as she dropped her bag in its usual place by her beaten-up Doc Martens. 

“No.” Fatin took her hand, tugging her to their bedroom before seating her girlfriend on the bed, moving to take her own seat by the cello. 

She swallowed thickly, fingers beginning to dance across strings that she hoped would convey what she thought of whilst writing it, Leah. 

At the beginning, it’s slow with juxtaposing notes and the mystery of not knowing. 

Then it soothes into something more predictable, rhythmic, and flowing but soft and calming. 

There are faster notes and uncertainty from when they had fought, sections of which are repeated throughout; relationships were never complete sunshine. They did occasionally come to odds over things they could not control, but always they worked it out. 

Her fingers began to move faster now, slipping into something she didn’t write. A section of one of Leana Del Rey’s sultrier songs that had played one evening when they made love more times than either could count after being parted for a month. (Leah had gone away on a long trip with college, prompting one of the aforementioned arguments.)

But then it changed, into something so emotive that tears dripped down Leah’s cheeks. 

Fatin slowed to a stop, dragging out the last note as her finger bent the sound of it. 

She placed the cello down, dropping to a single knee as she looked at Leah. 

“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to spend a lifetime writing in books for you.” 

Chapter Text

Fatin POV (Age 27)

With a grunt, Fatin dropped the box in her hands. She coughed, clearing her throat as the dust from the surface kicked up in her face. 

“Did the bitch never clean this place?” 

“The bitch has arthritis,” Edith said as she hobbled in, her weight barely held up as her walking stick shook. Though she had aged, she had never lost the sarcastic edge to her. “Now unpack those before Leah decides to rehome any. They’re for sale, not her personal library.” 

Fatin wasn’t sure they had any more room for books in their house. She had built Leah a library for her twenty-fifth birthday. A room that housed a fireplace and chair on one side, and bookshelves complete with a ladder that swung across on another. It was the first gift Fatin had got for her wife that made her bawl to the point of not being able to form words. And that reaction alone had made the hours of work and many broken acrylics utterly worth it. 

However, her wife was a hoarder when it came to books, so Fatin began shelving the ones in the box at speed. 

“Where is my granddaughter? She’s doing well in college, isn’t she?” 

Fatin bit her cheek and nodded. It had been years since they finished education, but often it was easier to not correct Edith. Corrections often led to further confusion or upset, and so Fatin agreed and told her how well Leah was doing. 

“Jeez, this stuff is heavy. What’s in this?” Leah asked as she entered the shop.

“Not Fatin’s bedroom extras,” Edith replied tersely. 

She snorted as Leah’s face grew pink. When they moved Fatin had made the mistake of asking Edith to shift the smaller boxes… ones that housed her bedroom ‘extras’. Leah was yet to recover from the ordeal especially as months later Edith mentioned it daily and often in front of strangers. It was almost like she was purposefully torturing her granddaughter. 

Fatin however took pride in her collection. “Leave my wife alone. Any redder and she’ll pass out.” 

“Wife?” 

“Where should I put these?” Leah asked, changing the subject quickly as had become natural for them. 

At first, Leah had struggled immensely with it, and even now Fatin could see her gnawing on her lip. However, they had both learned to take the happy moments and to appreciate every second. 

“Wherever you want. There’s still space by the unit Fatin cleared out dear.” 

Fatin squeezed her wife’s hand, kissing her on the cheek. “You okay?” 

“Mhm. Those look good there.” 

It took them two weeks, but eventually, the shop was ready. 

Edith still lived above and often popped down to sit and chat with them. Many customers headed into the shop in hopes of seeing her. She was loved by the community, and even the D&D group added an extra game day every other Sunday where they would bring poker sets for Edith to play with them. They quickly figured out not to play with real money when she shook each one of them down. 

When Edith was diagnosed with Alzheimer's she had been worryingly unfussed. Fatin had taken her to the appointment and watched her with concern as the elderly woman smiled and fastened her seatbelt as if nothing had happened. 

“We don’t have to go straight back to the shop. We could go out? Grab a coffee?” 

“I’m quite alright Fatin. When you get to my age you find yourself surrounded by less and less of those you love. I have had a wonderful life, I have a wonderful family, but nothing can last forever.” 

“Aren’t you-”

“Sad? Melancholy? Despondent?” Edith cocked a brow. “I’m processing. I don’t think this is a way anyone wishes to go. However, I am also resigned to the fact I can’t change this. That which we cannot change, we must accept.” 

“Is that a quote?” 

“No, it’s a bleak fact dear. I do need you to take me somewhere though.” 

“Where?” 

“To speak to my legal advisor, Thomas.” 

That day Edith had started the process of her will, but on top of that she had begun the process of signing everything over to them. 

Something neither realised until she invited them over for dinner.

“Pile any more mash in your mouth at once and you will choke,” Edith scorned as Fatin funnelled it down her throat. 

In fairness, she couldn’t be blamed. Edith made her mashed potato with cheddar and buttermilk; it was the one food Fatin found herself always craving. 

She rolled her eyes and swallowed the humungous mouthful. 

“We need to talk. Hash things out.” Edith dropped a stack of papers on the table as they ate. 

“What’s that?” Leah asked. 

“The deeds to the building, and ownership of my stock and whatnot. Not a very comprehensive list I must admit. Lord knows what’s actually in that store; so much of it has been sat there gathering dust for decades.” 

“What?” 

Edith fiddled with her glasses. “I don’t have much more time where I will be with it enough to sort everything. Yes, your father is in charge of my finances now but there were other things to consider.” 

Fatin shook her head. Leah seemed yet to work it out, but she knew exactly where she was going with this. “We’re not taking your store from you.” 

“You want us to take the store?” Leah asked. 

“I’m old. Girls, even if my memory was not being sucked away by the vortex that is old age, I would still be doing this. Since you got married, I have been considering this. I can barely stand to stock books, and I can only bear so much droning on about this technological age I supposedly must join.” She chuckled to herself. “It’s time. And Leah since you were five years old you have said how much you want to run a bookstore.” 

“I don’t want to take yours. It’s yours. You can still own it, I could just help out.” 

“Leah cut the crap. Do you want a bookstore still?” 

“Yes but-”

“Are you still happy with your house here and living in the area?” 

“Yes but-”

Edith pushed the paper in front of them. “Sign in your own time. But if you don’t want it, I will simply have to sell to some nit wit who will likely make it into yet another coffee shop.” 

“It’s too much,” Leah said. Her eyes watered, dripping onto the paper. 

“Since you could walk you have been in that store helping me with your grubby little fingers. Then I met your wife who was quite a pain in my ass, however she seemed to adore that place just as much as you do. There is nothing I am more certain of in life than the fact my store was always our store. And now it’s time for it to be yours.” 

Now Fatin looked across the shop… their shop. There had been some alterations to modernise it, but they were few. Much older texts that had been there for a decade were donated, everything had been organised, and now the glass window at the front had a rainbow flag draped down across it. 

The small area for D&D had now been made larger and they had applied for permission to expand into the small vacant shop next door that they purchased with savings Fatin’s mother gave them. Now that area joined the original shop and was mainly used for a small coffee area where Fatin would work some days. 

It was still cosy and still housed old wooden furniture and a warm fire. Still smelled like books as always. They now stocked more LGBTQ+ titles, but also added stands for other representation like BIPOC shelves and disability rep shelves. That addition had made Edith smile. 

“It looks different,” Leah said. “It feels so big now.” She stacked the final two books on their LGBTQ pay-it-forward shelf. It allowed customers to donate books or vouchers that customers with no money or no safe access could help themselves to. They had a similar offer at the café where people could pay forward a pastry or coffee. 

“I remember when I first came in here and it felt like that cluttered house in Halloweentown. God, I loved it.” 

“I think I miss the clutter,” Leah admitted. “But we also wouldn’t have got insured if we left it that way.” 

“You have your own library at home that will soon look the same,” Fatin teased, wrapping her arms around her. “It feels like us. Us and Edith. A mix of the three.” 

There was some of Fatin in here too, etched into the safety of the walls. This was where Fatin had accepted her sexuality and had found an escape when life became too much. She only hoped others would find that same safety here in years to come.
 

Chapter Text

Fatin POV (Age 27)

The next month Fatin was working the book counter because Leah was sick with the flu. Surprisingly the store was doing brilliant, and they had even been featured in a couple of magazines. 

She drummed her nails on the desk and lifted her head when the bell on the door chimed. A girl headed in through the door, maybe thirteen, with long blonde hair and a book held to her chest. 

Fatin said nothing, reading that she probably wished to have her space. Her eyes skirted around the shop, eventually landing on her. Smiling, Fatin turned her attention back to the stock she was scanning. 

The girl tugged on the sleeves of her cardigan, reminding her of Leah back in high school. One by one she looked at the stands until she found one that she stood in front of for longer than the others. The tugging on her sleeves sped, and she began picking at the threads as she looked at the books; never moving her hand to observe one. She simply stared at the covers, frozen there. 

Eventually, after thirty minutes of her not moving an inch, Fatin moved across the store until she was standing beside her looking at the rack. 

“Looking for anything in particular?” 

“I’m not sure you could help,” she replied. “It’s okay, I should probably leave.” 

“You know my wife really likes this one,” Fatin said, pulling free a book called ‘She Gets the Girl’. “It’s a YA sapphic romance. I don’t read a whole bunch, but my wife permanently has a book glued to her hand.”

“Your wife?” 

Fatin smiled softly and nodded. “We own the store. It’s why everything around here is covered in rainbows. Before we owned it, it belonged to her grandma who is also gay. You may see her around sometime; trust me if you do, she’ll make you smile even if you feel like crap that day.” 

The girl chewed her lip. “How much is this one?” 

After Fatin told her the price she nodded and said she’d look for a while longer. Fatin watched her from the counter; the girl now pulled out the books but each one she never read the blurb for. Instead, she checked the price of each and quickly put them back. 

Again, her nails drummed. 

With a sigh, Fatin moved back to her side. “Find anything you like?” 

“Uh, no. I don’t think so.” She averted her eyes. 

“Mind if I show you something quickly?” Fatin asked. 

“I-” She shrugged and nodded. “Okay.”

Fatin walked her over to the back of the store, to a large board filled with tags. 

“What’s this?” 

“In the shop, we have something called a pay it forward scheme. Anyone can donate and the tokens have values marked at the top. It means that when people come in and can’t afford something, or don’t want their parents seeing a transaction at a queer store, they can still get something.” 

“They can be used on books?” 

“Anything in the store. There are also ones over there at the coffee counter if you want a drink or something to eat.” 

She picked at the pages of the worn textbook gripped in her arms. “Would it be okay if I used one?” 

Fatin nodded. “Anything you need, go ahead.” 

The girl looked at the board for a while, then took the lowest value token on the board. She headed back to the stands, then appeared at the till five minutes later with a copy of She Drives Me Crazy; one of their cheaper YA titles that was on offer. She slid the book across with the voucher, then rooted through the pocket of her cardigan. She pulled out a collection of small change that she slid towards Fatin. 

“You could always use one of the higher price tokens if you want. It will cover it.” 

“It’s okay, I have enough for this one.” 

Fatin nodded. Quietly she grabbed one of the totes from the back shelf that read ‘proud book lover’ with an image of a turtle holding some books and placed the bag inside along with a fudge bar from the counter. 

“I can't afford those.” 

“It’s fine. Offer on today,” Fatin replied. 

The girl tilted her head but said nothing more. “Thank you.” 

“Hope you enjoy the book. We also have a second-hand shelf that gets restocked on Wednesdays. The books on that are free to take but often fly out pretty fast.” 

“Free?” 

“Yep.” 

She nodded. “I have piano practice on Wednesdays.” 

“Can your parents drop you here?” 

“No. I um, I live at a foster house with like three other kids. Margret is really nice but she doesn’t have time to run any of us around.” 

Fatin drummed her nails once more as if it would help steady her emotions. She saw so much of both her and Leah in this girl. “How about I put aside some books for you, that way if you swing by at another time you still have some to look through.”

“You wouldn’t mind?” 

“Nope, it’s totes cool. I’ll be sorting them either way, I’ll just keep a few behind the till.” 

“Yes please. If that’s okay.” 

“Okay. Any day after Wednesday there will be some here should you want them.” 

“Thank you. For the tote too, it’s cute.” 

“No worries.” 

After she left Fatin grabbed a copy of ‘She Gets the Girl’ and shoved it behind the till. If she wouldn’t take a more expensive token maybe she would take it that way. 

...

“You look… tired,” Leah said as she walked into their house. 

“And you look sick. Look at my cute lil snot demon.” 

“Fuck you,” Leah retorted with a laugh. “What’s up? Busy day?” 

“No.” So Fatin kicked her feet up and spent the next half hour telling Leah about the girl. 

“She wouldn’t take a higher value token?” 

“Nah. She took the lowest value one and then got one of the books we have half off this week.” 

“Did you tell her about the second-hand rack?” 

“Yes. She can’t make Wednesdays; she said she had piano practice, and her foster mum can’t drive them places so I said I’d hide some behind the till for her.” 

Leah smiled; her eyes glossy as she nudged her wife with her foot. “You have a soft spot for her.” 

“She was sweet, okay? It was like looking at a mini you.” 

The next week Fatin was working the café when Leah appeared at the counter. “There’s a girl here looking for you.” 

Fatin looked across, sure enough seeing her in the same cardigan with the tote slung over her shoulder. 

“She seems to have one of our tote bags.” 

“I may have given her some extras.” 

Leah shook her head with a grin. “You know I love you, right?” 

“Is that so?” 

Leah kissed her cheek and headed behind the counter. “I’ll swap with you for a bit.” 

“Is that your wife?” the girl asked as Fatin moved behind the till. 

“It is. Total dork,” Fatin replied. “Hard not to love her though.” 

“She seems nice.” 

“She is.” 

“How did you two meet?” 

So Fatin launched into it, telling her about the annotated books she would leave her each week. She told her about the plants and Edith, and the moment she realised that she was Leah’s grandma. 

“Leah hated me at first. But then again, I was a bit stuck up in high school.” 

“Were you a cheerleader or something?” 

“No, I play the cello. That always took up most of my free time in school. I work with the state orchestra now for some seasons.” 

“You must be good.” 

“I’m very good. My parents were kind of pushy dicks… I mean… um… they were a lot.” 

“I’m thirteen, I’ve heard the word dick,” she replied with a snort. “Do you get on with your parents now?” 

“I haven’t spoken to my dad since I was a teen, but I’m very close to my mum now. It was a long time of being distant from her but towards the end of high school we grew a lot closer.” 

“It must be nice, having her.” 

“It is.” Fatin pulled the books out. “Do you have family that you see at all?” 

“No. My parents died when I was four and I lived with my grandma for a few years, but she got sick. She’s gone now but she was nice. Always cooking. I didn’t have any other family, so I’ve been in the system since I was seven.”

“That must be tough. I mean to go through that at any age but you’re so young.” 

She shrugged. “The foster I have at the moment is way nicer than others. I’ve had worse.” 

Fatin slid the book pile towards her. “Anything you want from this pile is yours, no need to pay for anything; they’re all donated.” 

The girl suspiciously eyed the very new-looking copy of ‘She Gets the Girl’. “These are all second-hand?” 

“Mhm.” 

Sitting in the chair at the back of the store she began looking through the pile, reading the back of each. Fatin had put aside a variety of middle-grade and young adult titles in all genres including graphic novels. Most were LGBTQ+ but a few weren’t. 

“Is it okay if I take these two?” she asked later. 

“Yep.” Fatin nudged a bar of fudge towards her. 

“I don’t need anything else; you’re already giving me a lot.” 

“Leah’s grandma makes the fudge. She used to make me a cup of tea or coffee like every time I came into this store when I was a teen. Baked goods too. Does the same for the boardgame group too. Trust me when I say she’d want you to have some.” 

“Thank you.” 

“No worries. Enjoy the book.” 

“Did she take She Gets the Girl?” Leah asked after she left. 

“Yes, she’s totes gonna love it.” 

“You’re smiling so much.” Leah pushed her hair behind her ear. 

“She’s sweet. Like I said, she’s like a mini you. It’s our job to help out all future tiny gay book nerds.”

“She’s gay?” 

“I don’t know. But I feel like she’s probably not straight if she spent like thirty minutes in the sapphic book section and only reads queer books.” 

“You have a point.” 

Chapter Text

Fatin POV (Age 27)

The next week she came back again. “Are there any books from Wednesday left?” 

“Nope.” Fatin grinned. “Come on kid.” Fatin took her to the back of the store and this time didn’t let her pick a token. She placed one for twenty dollars in her hand. “Grab whatever you want with it.” 

“I-”

“Not a suggestion. Go look. Come find me when you choose.” 

“Imogen obviously,” Fatin said when she got to the till. “Leah loves that one.” 

“The cover looked cool.” 

She placed it in the bag with a cookie. 

“Again, with the baked goods? Those are expensive.” 

“The voucher covers more than the book value kid.” She gestured to the stand beside her. “Want a bookmark?” 

Quietly the girl picked out one that had an image of a frog holding a lesbian flag on. 

“Good choice.” 

Week by week the girl would show up, pick one book, and leave. Sometimes she would return a book she had read for the donation pile if she wasn’t going to re-read it. 

Occasionally Leah would see her and would also send her away with baked goods or stickers, and the rest of the time Fatin would. 

One week she didn’t show. That week turned into two. Then three. 

“Why are you looking all grumpy?” Edith asked. “You look like you have a stick wedged up your ass.” 

Rolling her eyes, Fatin threw a bread roll at her. She spent the next thirty minutes filling her in on the girl who randomly appeared once a week and left with a queer book or two. 

“You’re worried about her.” 

“Obvi. She’s just… she’s so kind. And Quiet. The world is rarely kind to people like that.” 

“Give it a couple of weeks dear, maybe she’ll show again. I seem to remember the occasional week where you disappeared from the face of the earth. Teens have a lot going on.” 

...

The next week she showed up again. Her hair was pulled up in a haphazard ponytail, unwashed, and her tote bag was gone. 

“Hey, looking for some books?” 

“Yes. Could I… could I hang out here for a while?” 

Fatin nodded, hiding the frown from her face almost as quickly as it appeared. “Sure, there’s a reading area at the back. We close at half five but you’re welcome to stay until then.” 

She stayed; curled up in the chair at the back of the reading area with a book in her palm as she chewed on her sleeve. 

“Is she okay?” Leah asked. 

“I don’t know. She seems off.” 

“Yeah, she does.” 

The next two days she appeared again, even on Wednesday when Fatin knew she should have piano practice. Quietly she sat at the back of the store, reading a book. Sometimes she cracked out her homework and scribbled away. 

The day after Fatin sat down opposite her. “Everything okay at the moment?” 

“What?” 

“You’re here a lot.” 

“Sorry, I can-”

“It’s not a problem, this chair rarely gets used. I just wanted to check in, check you’re okay.” 

“I’m fine. My foster is sick so she’s giving up caring in a couple of months or so.” 

“What does that mean for you?” Fatin asked. 

“Back in the system, I guess. Sometimes I find good fosters like her but not everyone is great. Some suck.”

“If you need anything we’re open most days.” 

“Thank you. It’s cool, I’ll be fine. You guys already do a tonne for me with the books.” 

“Well if you do there’s food and books here. Always.” Fatin smiled. “What’s your name, by the way, I have no idea.” 

“Riley.”

“Cool name kid.” 

“Thanks.”

...

“Why are you pacing?” Leah asked as they sat down at home. 

“Riley.” 

“Who?”

“The girl,” Fatin explained. “Our weekly kid visitor.” 

“Something happen to her?” Leah asked, concerned. 

“Her foster is sick; she’s worried about going back into the system because some of her previous fosters haven’t been great.” 

“And you…” Leah tilted her head. “You want to foster her, don’t you?” 

“It’s ridiculous, right? I’m sorry. I think I’m majorly hormonal because of my period and I have all these weird maternal instincts hitting me right now.” 

“We never had kids,” Leah said. “We were always going to adopt then life got in the way. Then we opened the store.” 

“That doesn’t sound like a no.” 

Leah wrapped her arms around her. “Because it’s not,” she mumbled into her neck. “We can contact my grandma’s legal advisor tomorrow; ask if he knows about the process.” 

“Leah…” 

“It’s fine. I see how you are around her; how she is around you. Hell, she spent one Saturday putting books away for me because she didn’t like that she gets free books all the time for nothing in return. Each week she reorganises the donation shelf too.” 

“I don’t want you to feel pressured to say yes.” 

“When have you ever pressured me?” Leah kissed her neck. “It’s fine. We’ll see what our options are.” 

...

It turned out there was a lot to the process. 

They would have to submit a tonne of documentation and attend a fair few workshops and courses for CPR and trauma training. They would need references, proof of income, and an inspection of their house. Background checks and far more just to become a foster. After a year they could apply for adoption if it was something Riley and they both wanted. 

Fostering her specifically would be harder, but Edith’s legal advisor Thomas knew someone working in the area for the government whom he was contacting to see what could be done. 

The issue was they didn’t know her surname and Fatin also didn’t want to get her hopes up if everything fell through. 

She found it the next week when Riley left her book on the table. 

Riley Prescott 
Math
Miss Alder
Class A12

It was another two weeks of waiting, two weeks where Riley turned up at their store each day. Over those weeks Fatin and Leah began the process to become approved for fostering. 

“My contact got back to me. Riley is due to be in care under her current foster for another two months, after that she will need a new placement if her foster doesn’t change her mind.” 

“So…” 

“So, I would hurry up in getting your forms filled out and attend everything I have listed on the checklist. My contact has set you up for a home inspection too, I shall email you the details.” 

A month passed. Then two. 

Riley grew more and more silent as the weeks ticked near to leaving Margaret's care. 

“You okay kid?” 

“Mhm.” 

She rarely spoke to them now, sinking into her own mind and world as soon as she pulled a book out. 

That week, they finally got their approval. Along with a meeting. 

Fatin paced as her heart pounded. 

“It’s fine. There’s food, the house is clean, everything is sorted.” 

“Leah, we do not know how to raise a teenager.” 

“Like anyone does.” Leah countered. “Breathe. It’s fine. We’re going to do fine.” 

She nodded but Fatin was panicking. Riley may hate them for even suggesting this. 

When the agency worker turned up at her door, she opened it. “Hi Miss Jadmani, this is Riley who I think you may know already.” 

Riley poked her head out from behind her, jaw opening in shock. “Fatin?” 

“Surprise little dude. I mean obvi you don’t have to say yes, Leah and I just thought that-”

Arms wrapped around her, and Fatin felt her eyes burning. 

“How about we come inside and have a chat?” 

Riley made herself comfy in a chair as Leah passed her a book. This had become routine in the store, and she appeared just as calm here in their house; if a tad more reserved. 

“Is this the author that wrote She Gets the Girl?” 

“Yep.”

Riley and the agent talked to them for a few hours before they left. 

“We’ll be in contact to update you further.” 

“Thank you.” 

...

“Do you think she has everything she needs in her room and bathroom?” 

“Fatin, baby, you have sorted everything. You even sorted a hygiene drawer with sanitary products and every shower gel scent Bath and Bodyworks had.” 

“I don’t know what scent she likes!” 

“I think she would be happy with whatever. You know Riley.” 

“I feel like I’m buzzing with nerves. Like, I’m not entirely sure but I might throw up.” 

Leah took her hands, holding them tightly as she attempted to ground her wife. “Normally I am the messy anxious one so this is a nice turn of events. However, you’re worrying about nothing. All we can do is our best to make sure she’s comfortable. She’s a teen. We probably won’t see her tonnes anyway.” 

When Riley arrived, she was incredibly quiet. In fact, she didn’t come down for dinner. 

“Leave her, give her time,” Leah said. “She’ll come around. Think about how we would have felt at that age with this much change.” 

...

The next day she was gone before breakfast. 

“She’s fine. She texted and let us know that she left early.” 

“She left really early, and she hasn’t eaten.” 

“Time, Fatin.” 

Groaning, Fatin relented. She didn’t have any choice but to. 

That night Riley appeared in the kitchen. “Do you guys have food?” 

“Fridge is there, and cupboards are there. Leah normally makes dinner at six too.” 

“I can go through the fridge?” 

Fatin nodded, opening it up. “You can. This shelf here is yours. Take whatever, whenever you need it. There’s cheese, yoghurts, fruit, and some snacks like chocolate. We’ll make you a packed lunch each morning and put it on your shelf too, or we can give you money for the cafeteria. Whatever you prefer.” 

“You would make me lunch?” 

“If you want. Leah makes a mean sandwich.” 

“Yes please.” 

“Okay, let me know what kind of thing you like to eat, and we’ll sort it. Also, if there’s anything you don’t like, tell us.” 

Riley stilled with a cheese stick in her grasp. “Is it still okay if I come by the store? I like it there.” 

“Whenever you want.” 

That she smiled at. “Thank you.” 

“No probs. As for your room, Leah and I will take you shopping after school next week. I don’t know what’s you, so we just threw together something temporary.” 

“Shopping?” 

“Yeah, to pick out bedding, whatever colour you want your wall and shit… I mean stuff.” 

Riley snorted. “I would like that. If you’re sure it’s not too much.” 

“It’s not. Also, I love shopping and Leah hates it, so I will take any opportunity I can grab to drag her out.” 

...

The next week Fatin came into the shop and spotted Riley sitting with Edith. “Does she know about her memory?” 

“Yep, all filled in. She said her grandma had dementia years ago. Grandma seems to love her and anytime she gets frustrated Riley is great at moving on to a new subject.” 

“I didn’t know that was how she lost her,” Fatin replied. 

“Yeah. Anyhow my grandma loves her. They’ve been chatting away for hours. I did have to tell her off for suggesting Riley read a book that’s definitely far too old for her. I hid it on the top shelf.” 

Fatin rolled her eyes with a smile. “I would expect nothing less.” 

Chapter Text

Fatin POV

“Stop pacing.” Leah stilled her wife with a firm grasp on her shoulders. “It’s perfect.” 

It had taken her six hours, but during the night Fatin had set to decorating the living room to the best of her ability. Leah had offered to help, but she had shooed her away with the suggestion that one of them needed to sleep. 

Now Fatin’s eyes were sunken with tiredness, but her chest felt warm. Christmas was Leah’s favourite holiday; before her she never celebrated it. As Leah came into her life, so did the holidays she held dear to her. Each year Fatin did her best to make it special for her wife, but now there was a new weight. 

“Riley will love it,” Leah promised as she rubbed Fatin’s arms. 

Simultaneously Fatin was worried that this was all too much, or perhaps not enough. Riley never spoke of Christmas other than to mention that she missed baking with her grandmother. 

During the night Fatin strung up lights, dragged in a tree that smelled like pine and comfort, and then she set to hanging stockings and filling them all with the presents she spent hours wrapping. 

The kitchen was what she was most proud of, but also feared it was crossing a line. In it sat a cacophony of baking ingredients ready to make a gingerbread house and sugar cookies. Whilst she knew Riley missed baking with her grandma who she had lost, she didn’t know if she was ready to form new memories with them. 

It had been eight months of living together now and Riley felt like their daughter. Not too long from now they would be asking her how she felt about adoption. They knew she may choose not to, but Riley had slipped up and called Fatin ‘Mum’ twice when she picked her up from school and Fatin had spent two evenings after crying as Leah held her. 

They felt like a family, but Fatin also knew the weight of what Riley had been through. It was not a simple thing, and neither expected it to be. Occasionally Riley would lose her temper or shut them out because she had been used to being in unstable environments. One time she accidentally broke Leah’s favourite mug and ran away. It had taken them several hours in the pouring rain to track her down and promise they weren’t mad. 

Regardless of the lows, they loved one another as a family did. Riley had grown more confident though still reminded her of Leah. Her confidence was sarcastic remarks and wit, never loudness. She was introverted but now seemed to enjoy conversing with those she was close to. 

“I feel like I went overboard. What if she hates the kitchen?” 

Leah shook her head. “It’s wonderful. And if there’s something that makes her uncomfortable Riley will tell us.” 

Open communication had become a pillar of their household. Riley was so used to never complaining and appeasing whoever she lived with that they had to sit down and ask her to vocalise how she truthfully felt more often. 

It started with a mention that she didn’t like seeds in her bread- after they had been giving her seeded bread for months – and then moved on to things like wanting to try a club at school or if she was struggling with a certain teacher. 

Now Riley was open with them to a degree, voicing her likes, dislikes, and fears more often. 

They got her a nightlight when her room was too dark. They changed her therapist when they gave her one who she found intimidating. One by one things altered, making her environment more comfortable. 

Thirty minutes later Riley staggered down the stairs yawning in a pair of reindeer pyjamas. “Morning.” 

“You got her pyjamas?” Leah asked. 

“I told you I went overboard,” she whispered back. Then louder she said, “Morning. Want a drink?” 

“Yes please.” Riley stilled when she saw the array of lights and decorations. The presents were littered under the tree, piled up haphazardly in stacks. “Oh.” 

“I’m sorry if it’s-”

“You said Christmas is Leah’s favourite holiday,” Riley said. “I expected something but this…” 

Fatin held her breath. 

“It’s so cool.” Riley moved to press a button on an animatronic reindeer, snorting when it craned its neck as Christmas music began to play. 

“Told you,” Leah whispered. “How do you two feel about breakfast hot chocolate?” 

Riley grinned. “Do we have marshmallows?” 

“Mhm. Fatin grabbed candy canes too.” 

As they sat in the living room, Fatin passed a stocking towards each of them. “Didn’t you get one?” Riley asked. 

“Leah left me some slippers to wake up to,” Fatin assured, wiggling her feet. Stockings weren’t something they did every year but now they had Riley, she decided they should make it a tradition. 

She watched as they opened their smaller presents. Riley and Leah had similar things; books, stickers, fidgets, candy, and a small plushie. 

Both looked joyous. This was Fatin’s favourite part of the holiday: making her family smile. 

“Thank you,” Riley said. “I haven’t had presents in a while. Grandma always used to though. You didn’t have to get me anything, this was probably expensive.” 

Fatin smiled. “That’s not all of your presents. The big ones you can open when Edith and our parents get here.” 

But that made Riley drum nervously. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I don’t like opening things in front of loads of people,” Riley said. 

It made sense. Riley didn’t like being the centre of attention, she still struggled especially with big family events. 

“How about we make you a pile that you can open after they leave?” 

“That would be okay?” 

“Of course it would.” 

Riley smiled weakly. “Thank you.” 

“No problem. Want to check out the kitchen?” 

“What's in the kitchen?” 

Riley was dead quiet as she looked at the spread of baking supplies. They stood there silently for two minutes until Fatin heard her sniffle. 

“I’m sorry. I can clean it all up if you don’t want to-” Fatin was cut off as arms wrapped around her. She let her own come up, hugging her tightly as Riley’s tears dampened her shirt. 

“I love it. Grandma would have loved this too.” 

They spent the morning in the kitchen as Leah threw flour at them both, baking and making the components for the gingerbread house. The sugar cookies were the first thing out and the three of them had eaten half the batch by the time they finished gluing the cooled gingerbread together. 

The house was lopsided, tilting to the left almost like a haunted mansion. 

“It has character,” Leah supplied. 

“It looks shit,” Fatin replied. 

Riley scoffed. “It really does. Hopefully, it tastes better.” 

“We’ll nail it next year,” Fatin added with a shrug. “If you tilt your head, it almost looks straight.” 

Riley tilted her head and looked at Fatin. “Nope, don’t think that works.” 

“Oh you asshole,” Fatin laughed. 

“Stop swearing,” Leah chided. 

“Edith will be here in thirty minutes; I think you need to worry about her more than me babe.” Fatin kissed her wife’s cheek. “Let’s go get ready. My mum will be worried about me going grey early unless I wash this flour out of my hair.” 

“Presents!” Edith said, setting a bag down as she came in. Kurt helped her, his arm laced through her own. Her memory was slowly getting worse, but Leah was glad to see this was a somewhat okay health day. Edith loved the holidays growing up, the last thing she wanted was for her to miss out on it. “I got you all lots of exciting things.” 

“Riley will be opening hers later,” Fatin replied. 

However, Edith didn’t seem to understand this and placed a bag in front of the young girl. “For my wonderful granddaughter.”

Stopping her, Riley shook her head with a small smile. “I’ll open Grandma’s now.” 

“You’re sure?” 

Nodding, Riley sat down in the corner, perched against Edith’s chair. 

Edith and Riley had grown close over the year and often she would ask to visit her. She got confused so often with who Riley was, that Riley had eventually stopped saying that she wasn’t really her granddaughter. Now Riley smiled whenever she heard her say it, and when Riley would always call her Grandma. 

“These had better be appropriate,” Fatin teased. One year Edith had gotten her a boob stress ball that Fatin had the delight of opening right under the watch of Leah’s father. 

“Appropriate is so tiring, don’t you think?” Edith sat back down and watched them all. 

“You knitted me a jumper?” Riley asked, holding up a jumper with a dark brown body and one sleeve that was cream and another that was a lighter brown. It was cuffed with the same dark brown at the end of the sleeves and hem, but one arm was clearly longer than the other. 

“So I did, do you like it?” 

Riley tugged it over her head with a smile. “I love it. It’s so warm.” 

Leah opened hers next, it was a book though Edith forgot what the book was. She frowned, unsure of if she had wrapped the right thing but Leah thanked her and loved it. 

When Fatin opened hers, she knew it would be potluck. Edith had no idea of what she had wrapped, so Fatin tore the top of the paper and peered in. “Oh my god,” she groaned. 

“Not another stress ball is it?” Kurt asked. 

Fatin smoothed the paper back down over the top and smiled as her cheeks burned. “Thank you, Edith.” 

“Well let me see what it is,” Edith replied. 

Clearing her throat, Fatin moved to the side and positioned it so Riley couldn’t see the contents. Edith let out a loud cackle as she saw the book of vintage lesbian erotica. 

“What did she get you?” Leah asked. 

Fatin passed it to her, watching as Leah’s blush turned to red. 

“That’s staying somewhere where Riley will never see it,” Leah stated, snapping the book shut after a single glance within. 

“Can we see what-” Kurt started. 

“No!” Leah and Fatin said simultaneously. 

“Huh,” he muttered. “Worse than the stress ball I take it.” 

Come nightfall, the three of them sat on the sofa as Noelle played. Riley had just finished opening her presents from her grandparents and Fatin’s brothers. Whilst they were both away this year on business, they each left Riley a voucher and some chocolates. 

Fatin pushed the last few towards her. “These are from us.” 

She went for the largest first. “Is this-”

“A longboard,” Fatin finished. “You said to us last month that your friend had one you liked riding so we figured you might like one.”

She stood, turning it in her hands as she looked at the deck. It was brown natural wood with a bear engraved on the reverse. A decent brand with wheels that should be smoother should she meet any gravel on the roads around the town. 

“Thank you, guys,” Riley sat back down. “You didn’t have to do all of this.” 

“It’s Leah’s favourite holiday,” Fatin replied. “Normally we’re pretty chilled around here but Christmas is the one time we’re a bit excessive.” 

She smiled and opened the next. It was a personalised satchel for her music notes. Plain, nothing too fancy. 

Yes, perhaps they had gone overboard but they didn’t have many people around them to buy for. This was also Riley’s first Christmas with them, and they both felt the weight of making it perfect. 

“The next one is partly for your birthday too,” Leah said, handing her a small card. 

She opened it slowly; tore along the paper and pulled out the card within. 

“Writer’s Camp?” 

“It’s the same one I went to when I was younger,” Leah stated. “Nothing’s concrete yet in case you don’t want to go but we’ve reserved you a spot if you do.” 

Riley was crying again, but she hid the tears behind her sleeves until she composed herself. “Thank you.” She turned and passed two small boxes across to them. “It’s not much.” 

They opened their presents at the same time. Both received a leather keyring with a heart on one side and ‘From Riley x’ on the other. 

“It’s perfect.” 

“I’m sorry it’s small I-”

“It’s perfect,” Fatin replied, grinning. Riley would have used a fair bit of her pocket money on those, and even if she had made them herself they would have loved them. 

She did however make their cards, and Fatin placed them both on display immediately. 

“You look happy,” Leah noted as they got into bed. 

“I think this is our best Christmas yet,” Fatin replied. 

“You always were such a softie when it comes to gift giving. At least you write your name on the tags these days.” 

Fatin swatted her with a pillow, letting her lips find Leah’s as she kissed her. 

Chapter Text

Fatin (Age 29)

“Honey, stop pacing.” Gripping Fatin firmly by the shoulders, Leah smiled softly. “Now take a breath for me. In for four, hold for four, out for four.” 

Doing exactly that, Fatin’s shoulders slumped. “Why are you always digging me out of some mental breakdown over her?” 

Leah placed a kiss on her lips, “It’s never a bad thing to care and worry about those you love. Now, Riley should be home any minute, so let’s bring you back down to Earth before she returns.” 

“What if it’s too soon to ask her? It’s been just over a year.” The year had passed quickly, and Riley was now fourteen. She called them Mum and Ma sometimes, but always hesitated after doing so, flinching as if she wasn’t sure that she meant it. Whilst Fatin and Leah never said a thing, they hoped it was a sign that she might be happy to consider adoption. Whenever Fatin spoke of Riley, she had to catch herself, reminding herself to say that she was their foster kid, not daughter, even though Riley felt just as much a part of their family. 

But now, Fatin’s thoughts ran amok. What if she had read this wrong? Just over a year was awfully fast to be considering adoption, and Riley was still settling in. She talked to them more now, but every day, there were things to overcome. Maybe this was too fast, and maybe she would be horrified by the idea, which could make her pull away. 

“Then she will say so,” Leah replied, rubbing her hands up her arms until her wife calmed. “But I think it’s right to ask. Riley still worries she might not be here with us the next day, should we grow tired of fostering like the others she’s been in the care of, and I think adopting her will give her some peace of mind. If she doesn’t think so, that’s fine. But we need to ask.” 

“Okay.” 

“And you’ve slipped up three times this week and called her your daughter when talking to customers.” 

“Shit,” Fatin uttered. “I know. I just… I see her as our kid.” 

“So, we ask. She may say yes, or perhaps no, but at least she knows either way that we’re serious about wanting her under this roof.” 

By the time Riley got home, she was covered in dirt. 

Months ago, Shelby and Toni had moved in next door with their four-year-old. They had been close since college, and so they immediately fell back into the usual of hanging out together and reminiscing about old times. Riley had quickly grown attached to Toni, given that she dealt with similar things to her in childhood. It meant that Riley had begun somewhat mirroring Toni’s love of sports.

“Leah, am I okay to shove my things in the washer? It rained during practice earlier, and my gear got covered.” 

“Kick your boots off and go change,” Leah replied. “If you bring your clothes down, I’ll put them in shortly.” 

“Thanks, M-” Riley snapped her mouth shut, pink creeping up her cheeks as she shook her head as if dislodging a thought. “Thank you.” 

By the time she made it back downstairs in her cardigan – one knitted by Edith that she had worn holes into the sleeves of from wearing it so often– Riley held out a bag of laundry. Leah put it on to wash and caught her before she could leave. “Can we borrow you for a second? Just for a quick chat about something.” 

As Riley sat down, her cheeks had paled, and she wouldn’t look at them. And at that moment, Fatin knew she was right to ask what they were about to. “Don’t worry,” Fatin said quickly. “It’s nothing bad, I promise.” 

“We actually have a question for you, and we want you to know that whatever your answer, you will always have a place here, okay?” Leah said, waiting for the unsure nod. “Great. And we mean that. Whatever your answer is, we will not mind and we will understand.” She looked at Fatin expectantly. 

Taking a jagged breath in, Fatin bit her cheek and passed an envelope across to her. “You’ve been here for a while now, and whilst that place will always be permanent regardless of your answer, Leah and I… We would like to adopt you.” 

“Me?” Riley blurted, staring at the paperwork as her hand shook. “Sorry. You want to adopt me?” 

“Yes,” Fatin replied. 

“Why?” Staring up in confusion, Riley shook her head. “Why me? You could start your own family. I would get in the way; Amy always says that.” 

“Amy, the bitch who stole your highlighters?” 

“Fatin!” Leah whispered forcefully. “Maybe don’t call a kid a bitch?” 

Rolling her eyes, Fatin refused to take that back. Amy had bullied Riley for several years and now hated the fact that people actually liked Riley’s foster parents for once. Leah and Fatin attended sports events, showed up with baked goods for fares, and always sent her in with a packed lunch that put others to shame. 

But Riley stood quickly, wiping tears that now dripped down her cheeks before her feet pounded up the stairs. 

Okay, so perhaps it wasn’t going to go well. 

With a sigh, Leah said, “Give her a few minutes, then you should go up and see her. Both of us will put her on the defensive, and she’s always more open with you about her worries.” 

Whilst she still spoke to Leah, Leah tended to be who Riley went to when she needed help with schoolwork or wanted to share some positive news, and Fatin was who she went to when she had problems. There was some crossover with that, but usually, Riley was more open with Fatin about her struggles. 

So now, Fatin let her hand knock against her door. “Kid, can I come in?” 

“Yeah.” 

When she headed in, she found Riley sitting against the head of her bed with her cardigan pulled over her hands and her knees drawn to her chest. Sometimes it shocked Fatin how much alike Leah she was. And Fatin supposed that was why Riley came to her with her issues. So now, she passed a mug across to her and said, “Blow on the hot chocolate before you drink it. It’s hot.” Like Leah, she was calmed by great deals of sugar and a stable presence who was also likely too honest. “Want to tell me what happened back there?” 

Two hands appeared from the cardigan sleeves, and Riley drew the mug towards her. “Amy said that foster kids are temporary and practice for when people want a real family.” 

“I won’t call her a bitch again because Leah will give me that disappointed glare, but I will say that Amy is probably saying that because she’s jealous.” 

“Amy has a family.” 

“She has a mother who has slept with half of your school’s staff behind her husband’s back and a father who missed every single one of her cello recitals this year and never shows his face at any event. That’s hardly a family, Riles. That’s people stuck together because they’re keeping up appearances. Her father is also a major asshole, so I guess that gene runs in the family.” 

“She’s jealous?” 

“Likely so,” Fatin hummed. “One time, a girl started a rumour that I gave the entire football team chlamydia because I refused to sign her cast when she broke her foot, but who the hell wants to touch a foot? Even in a cast, I was like ew, no thank you.” She shook her head. “The point is, kids can be petty and jealous and are incredibly emotional even if they pretend not to be. If she’s saying crap like that, it’s coming from a place of insecurity.” 

“So, I wouldn’t get in the way of your family?” 

“Kid, you are our family,” Fatin uttered. “Leah and I always talked about adopting, and we would like you to be the first.” 

“The first?” 

“We’ve seen how great you are with Shelby and Toni’s daughter, and we think one day you’ll make a superb older sister.” 

“Sister?” 

“Eventually. I know it’s a lot to take on board, but Leah and I see you just as much as family as our parents and grandparents. We see you as our daughter, but we also know that isn’t the case on paper, and we would like to rectify that. But only if you want that. If not, it’s fine, but we need to know that, paperwork or not, you’re a part of our family here, and you’re always welcome under this roof.” 

“You would be my mums? For real?” 

“We would.” 

“And you’re sure about it?” 

“If we could have adopted you within the first month of you showing up at the book shop, we would have. You fit here, and you will always be welcome here. Even Leah’s parents call you their favourite grandchild.” 

“I would be their only grandchild,” Riley reminded her, although she now smiled into her hot chocolate. “And I guess I would like that.” 

“You would?” 

“Yes. I’m happy here, and honestly, I always call you my mums behind your back anyhow because 'guardian' or 'foster parent' just feels… I don’t know, weird.” 

“I’ll let Leah know. Or you can, after the hot chocolate.” 

Eventually, they padded down the stairs, and Riley awkwardly shifted her weight from one foot to another. “Hi, Ma. I... would like for you to adopt me. If that's okay.” 

And Leah? Leah was a sobbing wreck for the next three hours. 

"Is she okay?" Riley asked by the time the sunlight vanished outside. 

"Your mum is just happy. Give her a few days, she'll stop when she runs out of tissues."

Chapter Text

Fatin (Age 30)

“That girl, Leah!” Fatin yelled. Riley had left the house, her cheeks burning after having been caught. So now, Fatin utilised that empty house to get out every morsel of her shock as she yelled at the top of her lungs. 

“Sorry, can you rewind for a moment? What happened?” 

“What happened? I’ll tell you what happened. Amy fucking Karlsen!” 

“The girl who used to bully Riley?” Leah tilted her head. “What happened now? Do we need to go to the school? I knew we should have asked them to change her classes this year. She said that she was being less mean this year, but if-”

“Oh, she’s being less mean, alright!” Fatin yelled. “I got home and found them kissing on the sofa.” 

For a minute, Leah stilled, her brain crashing to a halt. Then she stammered, raising a palm as she took a moment to digest that titbit of information. “Sorry, did you say Riley was kissing the girl who used to bully her?” 

“Enthusiastically,” Fatin blurted, pinching the bridge of her nose. “They were horizontal on the sofa." 

“Oh, shit,” Leah uttered. “God, no. Do we need to give her the talk? Should we have already given her the talk?” 

“She's sixteen,” Fatin replied. “Honestly, we should be proud that she took this long to get there.” 

“Okay, well, we weren’t all you in high school,” Leah replied, snorting. “But yes, shit, we need to talk to her. Maybe we should look for resources first before approaching that. Did she head out?” 

“I think she was heading somewhere with Amy.” 

“How was Amy… When you walked in?” 

Exasperated, Fatin threw her hands up in the air. “The girl looked terrified, but I swear I didn’t say much other than, ‘what the hell?’ but that was more because I was shocked to see Riley kissing anyone, let alone the girl who made her life hell for years.” 

“You’re sure they were kissing?” 

“I fear there was tongue. And she called our daughter, ‘babe’.” 

“Shit,” Leah replied, whispering the word. “Okay, we probably should have known something like this would happen... Not the whole making out with her bully thing. We really need to check that Amy is actually nice now. Then again, our daughter really does love an enemies-to-lovers romance, so that explains a lot. But we need to look and find resources before she gets back, and then sit her down and talk.” 

“I wanted to jump out of the window when my parents gave me the talk,” Fatin said. 

“Then we’ll speak to her on the ground floor.” 

By the time Riley returned, it was dark out. 

“Riley, you are fine going out, but you know the rules. Home before seven,” Leah rushed out, having been worrying for the past half hour. 

“I know, I- I’m sorry. I ended up walking Amy home, and she lives pretty far away, and I forgot my skateboard, so…” She shook her head and then looked at the table and pulled a face. “No.” 

“Yes,” Fatin said. “Take a seat, Romeo.” 

With a groan, Riley dropped down into the seat and pulled her cardigan over her hands before hiding behind them. “Do we really have to do this? They cover it in school.” 

“You’re a lesbian,” Fatin replied. “No, they damn well don’t.”

For the next half hour, Leah and Fatin went over everything as Riley sat there eternally mortified. They covered dental dams, toy cleaning and use of condoms with them, as well as risks should she ever be with someone who had the ability to get her pregnant. By the time they were finished, their daughters' face was a shade of red they had never seen before, and Leah’s was just as bad. 

“There are some books here, and also some names of people who cover queer sexual health on YouTube.” 

“We haven’t even done that!” 

Yet Fatin had been the one to walk in on Riley on her back, with femme top Amy tonguing her on the god damned sofa. An image she would seriously like to burn from her mind. God, she needed to make more noise as she entered the house. 

“You didn’t look far off it,” Fatin replied, raising a brow. “We’re not saying you will, but we are also not stupid enough to assume that you won’t. At least if that happens, you will be safe.” 

“Fine.” 

“Now, if we could circle back to the fact that you were kissing Amy,” Fatin replied. 

“We got paired up on a bio project, and I had to go over to her place for it, and her dad is a raging grade A asshole, by the way. He yelled at her in front of me, and I yelled at him, which caught him off guard, but after that, Amy and I… We argued less. We spent time together, and she goes to all my games and piano recitals now. And then the other month-”

“This has been going on for a month?” Fatin uttered, shocked. 

“Yes?” Riley winced. “She took me out for food and then things happened, and I guess now she’s my girlfriend?” 

Leah stood and started to pace. 

“Honey? You good over there?” Fatin asked. 

“Amy is welcome here,” Leah decided. “But she had better treat you well, and we mean that. No more crappy behaviour.” 

“She’s not like that anymore,” Riley said. “I promise.” 

“Good. Your door stays open, and when we’re not here, you stay downstairs.” 

“I’ll be louder when I come in,” Fatin added. “But if you could try not to make out around the time I’m due home, I would appreciate it. You are our daughter, and some things I never wish to see. Okay, kid?” 

“Okay.” 

“Is Amy having issues at home?” Fatin asked. 

“Yeah. Her dad sucks, but her mum is leaving him. They’re getting divorced soon.” 

“How does she feel about that?” 

“Happy. He’s not a nice guy.” 

Leah drummed on her arm. “She’s welcome around here when she needs a break, but your door remains open. We don’t mind cooking an extra meal if she wants food over here either.”

“Seriously?” 

“Always,” Fatin said. “If someone means something to you, be it friend or more, they’re welcome here. But saying that, I may need to take a week or so to wrap my mind around the fact that your girlfriend is Amy of all people.” 

“Last month she kicked Shayne in the balls for being a dick to me in the hallway,” Riley said. 

And finally, Fatin smiled. “Then maybe I will like her after all.” 

The next week, Amy arrived beside Riley and couldn’t look them in the eye, likely because she knew Fatin and Leah well from several meetings at school about Amy bullying their daughter. 

Whilst Riley feared the worst and held her girlfriend's hand tightly in her own, Fatin had simply said, “Amy, what’s your stance on pizza?” 

That night, they sat there with the Monopoly board in the middle of the living room, surrounded by pizza as Riley added to her property empire. When Amy laughed loudly as Riley brought another train station, she leaned back and unthinkingly knocked her drink over. The look of fear that passed her face as she did so left Fatin uneasy, but she and Leah laughed it off, and Leah lobbed some towels at her wife’s head as Fatin cleaned it up.

“I’m sorry.” 

“No worries,” Fatin said. “Leah’s a massive danger to all with her hand-eye coordination. In this house, we just assume everything and anything will get knocked over at some point.” 

Fatin ended up driving her home, and on the way back, she let out a breath. “Do Amy’s parents know that she’s queer?” 

“Her mum does. Her dad is seriously homophobic, though.” 

“I kind of assumed,” Fatin replied, wincing. “He was always rude to Leah and me. You said they were getting a divorce?” 

“In the process. Once it’s gone through, she will be staying with her mum in their house, and her dad is moving away.” 

“How does she feel about that?” 

“I don’t think she gets on with him, but I don’t think that makes it hurt any less.”

“I imagine it doesn’t.” 

It became a thing, Riley having her girlfriend over. Whilst Fatin and Leah assumed they would quickly break up, that never happened. And when it came to Riley’s dad moving away, Fatin and Leah helped her mother, Charlotte, move everything around. 

“This is such a nice house,” Leah noted. 

“Perks of being married to that man all of those years,” Charlotte replied. “Would you like a wine whilst the girls do their homework?” 

“Please,” Fatin replied. “You know it’s so weird seeing you somewhere other than a school meeting.” 

“Fatin!” Leah chided. 

“What?” 

“No, you’re right.” Charlotte chuckled. “Part of what I regret is staying with that man long enough that it impacted Amy the way it did. Since we told her about getting a divorce last year, and her dad's been away more, she’s been so much happier. And I’m glad she gets on with Riley now. She has been great for her. Got her grades up, too.” 

Fatin snorted. “Sounds about right.” Riley really was a mini Leah. 

Come the next month, Amy and Charlotte sat beside them for one of Riley’s big football games. 

“Aren’t you worried she’ll get a concussion?” Charlotte asked. “Those tackles are something, alright.” 

“Leah worries endlessly, I’m chill.” 

“Chill? When she needed stitches, you yelled at the nurse that she could get sepsis waiting too long for them,” Leah reminded her. 

“Ugh, I’m so chill. Just not when there’s blood involved.” Often, Fatin wished their daughter would have followed in Toni's basketball footsteps, but alas. Fatin heard it then, a voice from a guy behind her. One of the teens in Riley’s year. 

“Riley is so fine. Damn.” 

Before Fatin could even think to turn around and glare at the kid, Amy shifted. “Shut up, Brian. Literally no one wants your chlamydia!” 

“Lezza,” he uttered under his breath. 

So Fatin spun around. “At least Amy can get a girlfriend! What do you have, Brian? The male loneliness epidemic?” 

Amy snorted beside her, whilst Leah pulled her back around. “Can you not start fights with teenagers?” 

“He was being an asshole.” 

“Agreed,” Charlotte added, before turning. “If you use that word again, your mother will be hearing about it. We’re on the school board together, and I know for a fact she would not appreciate hearing that coming from you.” 

There was a chorus of ‘Ooh Brian,’ and ‘You're in trouble with mummy,’ behind them. 

Fatin peered at Amy. “You good?” 

“Superb.” She waved to Riley then, calling out to her. “She is my girlfriend after all. He’s just jealous.” 

When Amy flicked her hair over her shoulder, Fatin had to suppress a snort. God, she was so much like her in high school. 

“Is she okay?” Leah whispered.

“I think they’re gonna be just fine.”