The first kiss

The streets were nearly empty, save for the flickering lamps and the occasional passing cat brushing against the stone walls. Isabelle's heels had quieted now, exchanged for a softer stride as she and Mary walked side by side.

They didn't say much at first. The silence between them was delicate—not heavy, not tense, just full of things not yet spoken.

"So," Isabelle finally said, glancing sideways, "what does the perfect daughter of the mayor do when she's not secretly following lounge singers through alleyways?"

Mary smiled despite herself. "She attends afternoon teas, embroiders things she doesn't care about, and practices piano while pretending not to think."

"Not to think?" Isabelle raised an eyebrow.

Mary shrugged. "Thinking leads to wondering. Wondering leads to wanting. And… wanting leads to disappointment."

"Or discovery," Isabelle said softly.

Mary looked at her. "You talk like you've lived three lives already."

"Maybe I have." Isabelle's eyes sparkled, her voice gentle. "Or maybe I just learned early that fitting in doesn't always mean you're safe. Sometimes, it just means you're disappearing slowly."

That struck something in Mary. She paused, her fingers grazing the old stone wall beside her.

"I always thought being a good daughter was enough," she whispered. "But lately it feels like… I'm being written into a story I didn't choose."

Isabelle stepped closer. "Then rewrite it."

Mary shook her head. "I don't know how."

Isabelle studied her for a moment. Then, quietly, she said, "You don't have to know everything yet. You just have to stop lying to yourself."

Mary blinked up at her, startled. "I'm not lying."

A pause.

"Aren't you?" Isabelle said, softly, but firmly.

The silence thickened. Mary opened her mouth to respond—but the words caught somewhere between her throat and heart.

And that's when Isabelle reached up—slowly, gently—and brushed a strand of hair from Mary's cheek.

The touch was soft. Careful. Like a question waiting to be answered.

Mary didn't step back. She didn't move at all.

And then—

Isabelle kissed her.

It was light, no pressure—barely there. But enough.

Enough to wake something up.

Mary's eyes widened.

She took one step back. Then another.

"I—no—this can't—" she stammered, voice trembling. "I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have come."

"Mary—"

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I'm so sorry."

And then, she turned.

Her footsteps echoed fast down the empty street, her coat flaring behind her as she ran, heart pounding like a drum caught in a storm.

Isabelle stood alone beneath the lamplight, watching the space where Mary had been.

She didn't chase her.

She just stood still… and lit another cigarette with trembling fingers.