Chapter 36: Beneath the Light We Made
The moon was high and full that night, glowing like a pearl in a sea of dark silk. It spilled its silver grace across the quiet streets as Anya and Oriana walked hand in hand, their steps slow, their shoulders brushing with every movement. After the day they'd shared—the laughter, the rain, the garden—it felt as though the universe had shifted slightly. As if something invisible had clicked into place between them.
The world had grown quiet around them, not because it had nothing to say, but because it was listening.
"Are you tired?" Oriana asked as they approached her apartment.
"Not even a little," Anya replied. "I feel like if I sleep now, I might forget today. I don't want to lose a single second of it."
Oriana smiled, her fingers tightening around Anya's. "Then don't sleep. Stay with me. Let's not let the night end."
Inside, the soft glow of lamps welcomed them. Oriana lit candles, their flames flickering softly like the beating of two hearts unsure whether to run or stay still. The rain had stopped hours ago, but the scent of wet earth lingered through the open windows, mingling with the jasmine incense she lit from habit.
Oriana sat on the edge of the couch and patted the cushion beside her.
Anya sat, curling one leg beneath her. Her eyes met Oriana's, and in that gaze was the echo of every unspoken word from the day—every brush of fingers, every caught breath, every pause heavy with meaning.
"Do you remember," Anya said slowly, "when we first met?"
Oriana nodded. "You bumped into me in the hallway and apologized three times in five seconds."
"And you gave me that look like I'd just ruined your entire week."
"I thought you were trying to flirt with me by being clumsy."
Anya laughed, hiding her face in her hands. "I was genuinely that nervous. You looked so cool. I thought, 'There's no way she'd ever notice me.'"
"I noticed you," Oriana said quietly. "Even then."
Anya looked up.
"You wore that yellow scarf," Oriana continued. "The one that looked like sunshine. And your hair was a little messy like you'd rushed out the door. But your eyes were clear. I remember thinking—'She doesn't know it yet, but she's going to change everything.'"
Anya felt tears rising before she could stop them. Not the kind that burned from pain, but the kind that overflowed when the heart simply couldn't contain the beauty of a moment.
"You changed me too," she said softly. "Not in some loud, dramatic way. But like… like sunlight creeping in under a locked door. Little by little, you lit everything inside me."
Oriana leaned in, her hands cradling Anya's face, thumbs brushing away tears before they even fell.
"Can I kiss you?" she asked, voice tender.
"You never have to ask."
And so they kissed.
It wasn't rushed or fierce—it was reverent. The kind of kiss that acknowledged everything they'd been through to find each other. The kind of kiss that said I know you, I choose you, I will not turn away.
Oriana's hands slid down Anya's arms, their fingers entwining. She gently pulled her closer until they were chest to chest, warmth pressed against warmth, breath mingling like shared wind.
"I want to show you something," Oriana whispered.
She stood, guiding Anya toward her bedroom. The door creaked open and moonlight spilled in, soft and silvery. The bed was made, but lived-in. Books stacked beside it. A dried flower pinned to the mirror. Photographs taped to the wall in no particular order—snapshots of days lived fully.
At the center of it all was a canvas, covered with strokes of blues and pinks, deep violets and soft golds. A painting still in progress.
Anya stared at it. "It's beautiful."
"It's us," Oriana said quietly. "Or what I feel when I'm with you. I can't always say it in words. But here, in color… I can show you."
Anya stepped closer. The brushwork was wild and gentle at once—like Oriana. The center was a burst of yellow light—soft and radiant—and around it, darker hues curled like petals folding inward, as if the painting had a secret heart.
"I didn't know you painted like this."
"I only paint when I feel something too big to carry inside."
"And I'm in this?"
"You are this."
Anya turned to her, heart full.
Oriana reached for her then, slowly, with the kind of intention that made Anya's breath still. Fingers brushed against collarbone, cheek, wrist. She was memorizing her.
And Anya let her.
They moved toward the bed like waves returning to shore—inevitable and gentle. Oriana pulled back the sheets, and they lay side by side, gazing at each other beneath the soft hum of the night.
"I've never been like this with anyone," Oriana whispered. "I mean—not just the closeness. I mean… being seen."
"I see you, Ori. Not the version you try to be. Not the one the world thinks you are. I see all of you. Even the parts you hide."
Oriana kissed her then—soft, then deeper.
Fingers tangled in hair. Hands explored with reverence. They held each other like the world might end and begin again in the space between their bodies.
When Oriana undressed her, she did so slowly. Carefully. Like opening a handwritten letter sealed with love. Anya trembled, not from fear but from the weight of being wanted—not just for her body, but for her presence. For her laughter, her tears, her scars, her softness.
When they came together, it was with sighs and whispers. Mouths tasting, hands learning, skin brushing skin in a choreography older than words.
There was no need to speak. The way Oriana traced the slope of Anya's spine said everything.
The way Anya cupped Oriana's face and kissed her forehead spoke volumes.
They moved as one—gentle, slow, sacred.
Later, wrapped in each other beneath the soft cotton sheets, their limbs still entwined, Anya whispered into the dark:
"I don't ever want to be without you."
"You won't be," Oriana murmured. "Not in this life. Not in the next."
Anya smiled, tears forming again. She pressed her lips to Oriana's shoulder and closed her eyes, letting the sound of her breathing guide her to sleep.
And as the moon shone over the quiet city, two girls in love lay beneath the light they made together—unafraid, unhidden, whole.