Whenever Linda saw someone reading the university newspaper, she grew curious, wondering if they were maybe reading the horoscopes she’d written. However, her curiosity was less innocent today.

“May I sit here?”

The young woman opposite her looked up from the newspaper with a smile, shaking her head. “Go ahead.”

So Linda did, trying to sit down at the café table with more elegance than usual. “I’m Linda.”

“Tiffany,” the young woman said.

“Good to meet you,” Linda said, bowing her head.

Tiffany returned the gesture. “And you,” she said.

Then there was a moment of silence, Tiffany not yet looking back at the newspaper and Linda not yet looking away from Tiffany. When Tiffany smiled, Linda smiled back and asked, “Is that the university newspaper?”

“Yes,” Tiffany said, lifting it to clearly show the front page. Leaning forward, she whispered, “I read it to keep the boys away—Lord knows they dislike a pretentious woman.”

Linda couldn’t stop herself from snorting, marring the image she was trying to portray. However, Tiffany didn’t look disinterested after witnessing that, if anything showing a proud expression.

To recover some dignity, Linda marshalled her own expression into something aloof. “It is only natural for such a pretty lady to be pestered by boys.”

“Oh? It is?” Tiffany asked, eyebrow raised.

Linda replied with a mysterious smile, then finally broke her gaze away from Tiffany and regarded the now neglected newspaper. “Do you like to read any particular section?”

“Well, I am quite fond of the horoscopes,” Tiffany said, looking down.

“Really?” Despite the flat tone, Linda’s heart thumped in her chest.

Tiffany nodded. “Other horoscopes are rather bland and wishy-washy, so I find this one rather… curious.”

Linda put on a look of mild interest. “I see, and what is your star sign?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know,” Tiffany said, gesturing along with a hand.

Puzzled, Linda couldn’t help but ask, “Then how do you know which is your horoscope?”

As if it was the most obvious thing answer in the world, Tiffany said, “I read them all and choose the one I most like.”

Again, Linda was caught off-guard and let out a snort. Knowing her image was crumbling, Linda gave up all pretence to indulge in a giggle, hand over her mouth.

Whether an act or genuine, Linda didn’t know, but Tiffany then asked, “Is that strange?” in such an innocent tone that Linda refused to believe she wasn’t being joked with. Not that she was opposed to being the butt of the joke for a beautiful woman.

“Not at all,” Linda said, shaking her head.

Tiffany gave a mysterious smile.

The two formed a rather pure friendship. Like children, if they saw one another, they had to chat. Often, they spoke of the university newspaper’s horoscopes.

Linda never confessed to writing them. Rather, she used them to ask all the questions she had for Tiffany. That is to say, when she wanted to know Tiffany’s favourite colour, she arbitrarily assigned for that week’s horoscope a lucky colour to every star sign and then waited to see which Tiffany would choose.

It was a periwinkle hat.

However, Linda soon wasn’t satisfied with simple questions. She would put to the readers silly words or phrases that “brought luck” and then ask Tiffany to read them out. One time, she even gave replacements for the word friend and so was treated to Tiffany calling her a “bosom buddy”.

If not for a stern word from the editor, Linda would have gone further.

Of course, the resourceful person Linda was, she still took some liberties. Her favourite was to tell the readers where to have lunch. That way, when she met up with Tiffany, they would go on a little date to the lake or café or wherever Tiffany felt like.

It all rather felt like a dream to Linda. She didn’t dare hope that Tiffany also held queer thoughts and feelings, but the way Tiffany acted, the way Tiffany spoke, made it easy for her to pretend that there was something mutual between them. The future a vast and unpredictable place, she hoped to fondly remember these days through whatever trials and tribulations she would face.

Yet that grasp on her own feelings soon proved to be trifling.

One day, she came across not the enigmatic and endearing Tiffany who so enamoured her, but a shell of a woman. Overwhelmed with concern, she held Tiffany’s hands and asked after the matter.

“My… my father is ill,” Tiffany said, voice hoarse from sadness.

Put on the spot, Linda could only offer empty platitudes. Upset with herself for that, she later racked her brain for words of comfort; once she had something she was satisfied with, she added it to the next horoscope, hoping Tiffany would see it.

Sure enough, Tiffany did. “It says: Even if there are great obstacles before you, there are those thinking of you. When I read that, I thought of you and my heart settled for the first time all week.”

As glad as Linda was to hear such sweet words, they made the game of pretend that much harder. No, the game of pretend had long since ended, Linda’s heartstrings entwined with Tiffany’s, laughing when she laughed, aching when she ached. So those words simply served to give Linda hope, hope she could neither cherish nor let go.

Still, for all the pain Linda knew would come, she could forget it when with Tiffany. There was no room to think of anything else when her eyes followed Tiffany’s every movement, her ears every word, her nose the perfume; some times, even her fingertips knew how soft were Tiffany’s hand.

Although Tiffany was stained by the news, they still laughed together, just that it became Linda’s responsibility to bring humour to their little chats. She tried, not as good as the effortless quips Tiffany had spoiled her with.

Then the stain enveloped Tiffany. “I, I am to leave, to see my father,” she whispered.

“Good travels,” Linda said. What else could she say?

Stepping close, Tiffany took hold of Linda’s hands, painful as those fingertips dug into Linda’s palms. “I feel so lonely.”

Those words, accompanied by such a look with wide, glittering eyes, desperately begged Linda. And how could Linda refuse? “Would you like my company?” she softly asked.

Tiffany smiled, such a sweet smile, such an innocent smile. “I would.”

So the two travelled together, barely leaving one another’s side. Even though they said so little and what little they said was meaningless, there was great meaning in hearing the other’s voice, great comfort.

Once they arrived at Tiffany’s home town, a relative of hers picked them up from the station and drove them to her home. It was a large house, a manor on the town’s outskirts, and he helped carry their luggage inside. Tiffany’s mother looked as beautiful, looked as struck by grief and worry, looked as brave, eyes clear and smile warm, name as pretty: Anastasia.

“I see now where Tiffany learned her grace and inherited her beauty,” Linda said, softly smiling.

Anastasia laughed, the sound almost as sweet as when Tiffany did to Linda’s spoiled ears. “Such flattery, I would think you are here to ask for my daughter’s hand,” she said, humour in her voice.

Linda neither confirmed nor denied that.

Many thanks were shared all-round, for accompanying Tiffany, for offering room and board, and for every other little thing all parties could come up with. Once they were finished, Anastasia went to have a maid show Linda to a guest room, only for Tiffany to stop her.

“Mother, I feel so lonely and my bed is rather large. May we not share a room?”

If Linda could not resist Tiffany’s brittle gaze, how could her mother? “Very well.”

As late at it was, Tiffany still went with her mother to the hospital. Linda did not wish to intrude. When they returned, neither Tiffany nor her mother had an appetite, simply picking at their plates. After supper, there was no pretence of normalcy as Tiffany led Linda to her bedroom by the hand.

They took turns changing behind the divider and then snuggled into Tiffany’s bed. Sure enough, it easily fit them both, helped by how they were so close their shoulders touched, Tiffany holding Linda’s hand.

Thick curtains of velvet surrounded the bed and they drank up even the most muffled sounds, so dark Linda couldn’t tell the difference whether her eyes were open or closed. The perfect place for heartfelt secrets.

“Of the two, my father is the one who encouraged me to study,” Tiffany whispered.

“Really?”

“Mm. I still remember what he told my mother: Why dress her up and send her to events when we both know she will simply embarrass any boy who dares approach her?”

Linda swallowed the lump in her throat. “He knows you well.”

Tiffany giggled, such a sweet and innocent sound amidst life’s darkness. “He hoped I would find at university a boy who could at least match my wit.”

Unable to help herself, Linda quietly asked, “Did you?”

“I found you.”

Linda dared not read anything into those words, but she squeezed Tiffany’s hand and lightly said, “If memory serves, it is I who found you.”

“If memory serves,” was Tiffany’s cryptic reply.

Nothing else was said and Linda soon felt Tiffany’s hand relax and heard the change in breathing. Unable to stop herself, she wished she could know these little treasures for the years to come.

The next day did not bring good news. This time, Linda had no choice but to follow to the hospital, her hand now permanently in Tiffany’s possession. Once they arrived, she had a moment’s break while Tiffany and her mother viewed the body, then Tiffany claimed her shoulder, claimed it with a never-ending flow of tears and sobs.

Linda couldn’t hide behind her horoscopes this time. Though she could give but a fraction of the support Tiffany had lost, she tried, whispering, “It’s going to be okay,” into Tiffany’s ear. No matter how much Tiffany shook, how heavy she leaned, Linda refused to yield. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, gently rubbing Tiffany’s back.

As much as Linda wanted to stay by Tiffany’s side, though, the world never stopped for one death, letters soon coming to remind her that she could only miss so many classes. Despite herself being willing to repeat the year or even drop out, Tiffany wouldn’t have it.

“Even if the obstacles before me are great, I know you are thinking of me.”

Linda felt suitably chided with her own words being used against. Still, to leave now when Tiffany looked so weak, it was the most difficult thing she had to do in her life, knew nothing would ever come close.

Compared to that, a confession was easy. “I love you.”

Of course, she knew Tiffany would hear those words another way, yet her heart still swelled with joy to hear back: “I love you too.”

The trip back alone nearly broke Linda. At every station, she fought the urge to alight and take the next train back—and there were so many stations. Even once at university, she would often think that, if she left at this time, she would be there at that time—in time for afternoon tea, in time for supper, in time for bed.

However, not all her thoughts were so pure. It was said that abstinence made the heart grow fonder; she did not think her feelings could be called “fondness”. In the dark of night, drowning in loneliness, she couldn’t keep from recalling the glimpses she’d seen, moments where Tiffany’s nightclothes had tensed in a way that left little to the imagination. And how many times had Tiffany whispered to her, smiled for her, looked her in the eye with an ambiguous gaze.

It couldn’t be called fondness, such heat that craved ecstasy and left her with such feelings of disgust. For it felt like, every night she gave in, she lost a fragment of their special friendship. That, if she continued, soon she would only be able to remember the fantasies, forgetting the reality. And of the two, there were countless fantasies while she shared but one reality with her most precious friend.

Little she could do until the next break, she wrote letters, sometimes even more than one a day. Passionate letters which sought to separate truth and fiction, slow letters that reminisced, short letters to share some happening, long letters that explained her intricate and intimate feelings. Few of them she sent, most piling up in her suitcase. Of the ones she sent, Tiffany always wrote back, always signed them: Love Tiffany.

Still, the growing separation kept chipping at Linda’s pride until, in one letter, she included the phrase: I miss you.

It was but one part of a long and rambling letter, a tree in a forest. And yet, a week after sending it, Linda opened her door to find Tiffany standing there. Tiffany had lost much weight since their parting, skin sallow, face gaunt, her eyes as if bruised—how ugly must the rest of the world have been for Linda still saw the most beautiful woman.

Without words, everything was said, the two embracing. Despite wishing to hold Tiffany with all her might, Linda dared not even squeeze lest the fragile woman break in her arms. This time, it was Tiffany’s shoulder damp with tears, tears of joy. When words eventually became necessary, Linda asked, “Why?”

“You said you missed me.”

Afraid that asking any further would result in endless tears, Linda brought Tiffany to her desk and helped her sit. “I kept copies of all the horoscopes for you.”

Softly smiling, Tiffany started leafing through the pile of newspaper clippings, at times laughing, most of the time looking serious and thoughtful in her reading. Linda made no comments, drinking in the presence of her beloved and precious friend.

Of them all, Tiffany chose her favourite and she said, “I like this one.”

Linda scanned over the clipping and saw the reading for Aquarius: You may reunite with a special friend. She had written that with Tiffany in mind some weeks ago. So she was expecting that answer when she asked, “Which star sign?”

“Aquarius and Leo.”

It wasn’t strange for Tiffany to choose two, not any more so than choosing whichever one she liked rather than her actual star sign. Already knowing what the reading for Aquarius was, she read the one for Leo: You may encounter your fated love.

Her heart pounded in her chest, so loud she was sure Tiffany could hear it. Yet she dared not interpret what Tiffany said. She already had too much hope, prepared for so much pain. “Really?”

Tiffany stood up, coming to face Linda. And Linda dared not think, dared not move, simply standing there with her empty mind drawn on her face. Even when Tiffany brought up a hand and tenderly stroked her cheek, even when that hand slid back and cupped the back of her head, even when Tiffany leaned in, eyes fluttering closed.

When their lips met, the next chapter of their lives together began.