It didn’t take me long to realize that I was enamored with Laura. Initially, our interactions were primarily online: the classic millennial activities of Instagram flirting, exchanging book recommendations, and engaging in long text conversations. Then came a coffee outing that wasn’t intended as a date, just two potential friends catching up to discuss literature. And a spontaneous drinks meet-up at a pub where we found ourselves engrossed in conversation until the early morning hours.
But it was on New Year’s Eve, as 2017 transitioned into 2018, when everything changed. We found ourselves in an abandoned church in Newcastle, Australia, sipping whisky and sharing our first kiss atop a makeshift table. When our lips finally met, it felt as though the entire universe shifted. And in a serendipitous moment, as the table gave way beneath us, Laura caught my head before it hit the ground and uttered, “I guess this is how I fell for you.”
Before Laura, I had only experienced heterosexual relationships, and I wasn’t entirely certain if this was right for me. It was a novel and thrilling experience, and I definitely had strong feelings for her, even if I wasn’t quite sure how to define my own sexuality. Each time my phone chimed with a message from her, my heart would flutter. I would gather memes that I knew would elicit laughter from her, and I eagerly shared book recommendations, longing to spark discussions. However, I also felt a sense of responsibility not to mislead her due to the ambiguity surrounding my own sexual orientation.
During a visit to my friend in Brisbane, we discussed my predicament. Interestingly, her sharehouse was located on Laura Street. On the morning of my departure to Newcastle, she took me to a beloved café called Saint Laura. As we arrived, my attention was immediately drawn to the chalkboard display featuring the day’s toastie selection. And at the bottom, in bold lettering, the café’s social media hashtag read: #ILOVELAURA. It felt as though I had stepped into a surreal rendition of “The Truman Show.”
My friend’s advice about Laura boiled down to something along the lines of, “Life is short, so just go for it and date her.” The profoundness of those words lingered with me during my journey home. There was a part of me that contemplated pulling away at that moment, before we became entangled in something deeper. Yet simultaneously, I had never felt more alive, filled with boundless opportunities and pure happiness.
Then, amidst a turbulent patch experienced during the flight, I found myself frozen, clutching onto the armrests, heart pounding uncontrollably. I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths, wondering why I was suddenly panicking over a harmless jolt of turbulence. And then it hit me. If the plane were to crash and I perished, Laura would never know how much I loved her. With that realization, I opened my eyes, a peculiar grin painted across my face. I had my answer.
I was in love. I loved Laura.
As soon as I landed, I wasted no time in texting her to let her know I was on my way. It struck me that I had never even been to her house before. She promptly responded with her address, and as I ascended the four flights of stairs leading to her bedroom, I pondered how to articulate my feelings. I paced back and forth, recounting a convoluted tale about turbulence, until I somehow found myself on my knees on the carpet. And that’s when I mustered the words, “So I suppose what I’m trying to say is… I love you.”
Laura knelt down in front of me, meeting my gaze, and simply replied, “Well, that’s quite convenient because I love you too.”
We strolled down the street, indulging in gelato, and now, almost six years later, we are preparing to embark on our journey as a married couple. Our wedding won’t take place in the abandoned church, but it will be held in a location near where it all began.
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