We Just Fall In Love With The Same Gender
The warm light of the supermarket drifted over, wrapped in the aroma of fresh bread. I pushed the shopping cart slowly, while she leaned casually against its edge, rocking back and forth. As I bent down to check the price tags, her fingertips quietly hooked a pack of strawberry gummy candies from the shelf. We bickered about what to have for dinner while waiting in line—she insisted on hot pot, but I was worried about her hoarse throat. We fell silent suddenly when the cashier lady smiled and said, “Even when you two bicker, it’s sweet.” The tips of her ears turned pink, so I gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and the air was filled with a soft, sweet warmth.
These days, our everyday life is full of warmth. But there was a time when I was smothered by the fear of being “different.” In summer, I’d subconsciously tuck our clasped hands into my sleeves, afraid that passersby would whisper, “Why are those girls doing that?” When a waiter at the dessert shop asked, “You’re girlfriends, right?” I’d clutch my spoon, unsure whether to give a perfunctory answer or be honest. During Chinese New Year, when we video-called, I’d wait until my family was asleep to turn on the camera—afraid my mom would see our cheeks pressed together. Back then, love felt like a secret hidden in the shadows; even our goodbye kisses had to be quick, like a stolen moment.
Later, I often wondered where this fear really came from. It wasn’t that love itself was wrong—it was that we were too used to being confined by gender norms. It’s taken for granted that “girls should love boys,” and if we stray from this “default path,” we’re supposed to endure strange stares. What we feared wasn’t love itself, but having our feelings labeled as “strange,” and watching this precious affection lose its purity amid others’ gossip. But if you think about it—who is really qualified to define “what love should look like”?
The change started on a night when we curled up on the sofa watching a drama. The air conditioner hummed at a mild temperature, and we shared a single fleece blanket. On the screen, a couple argued about who would wash the socks, only to make up with coquetry moments later. Suddenly, she poked my arm—her fingertip still warm from the blanket—and said, “Look, they bicker and rely on each other. Aren’t we just like that? Put aside gender—what’s the difference between us and them?”
I stared at the couple embracing on the screen, then at her bright, shining eyes. My eyes suddenly welled up with tears. She was right—what was the difference? When I worked overtime until ten, she’d cook tomato noodles with a soft-boiled egg. When she was on her menstrual period, I’d tuck a hot water bottle into the knitted cover she’d made, having practiced secretly several times to make sure it fit perfectly into her pajama pocket. We’d draw sketches of our future small house, talking about filling the balcony with succulents and curling up on the sofa to watch old movies on weekends. These feelings had nothing to do with gender—they were only about her.
Gradually, I realized that love was never exclusive to opposite genders, nor should it be defined as “normal” or “abnormal.” It isn’t a label—it’s the sense of ease we feel when we’re together: it’s her remembering I don’t eat cilantro and adding a special note when ordering takeout; it’s me knowing she’s afraid of the dark and keeping her on the side close to the wall when we walk at night; it’s us arguing until we’re red in the face, yet still leaving a light on for each other afterward. These tiny, attentive gestures are the truest form of love. We just happened to meet someone who makes our hearts skip a beat among thousands of people—and that someone, like us, is a gentle girl.
Once, I thought the only way to stay safe was to hide this love. But after meeting her, I understood: true safety isn’t hiding in the shadows—it’s being bold enough to say, “I like her.” Because this love hasn’t hurt anyone; like all sincere feelings, it deserves to be cherished. We don’t need to prove anything to anyone, nor do we need to meet others’ expectations. All we need to do is stay true to our own hearts.
If you’re also longing for a love “without hiding”—a love where someone accompanies you to pick out gummy candies at the supermarket, plans your little future with you, and helps make your life shine brightly; if you want to meet someone who understands your little thoughts, why not check out LesPark? Here, there are no strange glances or unnecessary labels—only a group of girls who believe in love. On LesPark, love is just as it should be: we just happened to fall in love with someone of the same gender; we just happened to meet the person we want to give all our tenderness to.
