There was a reason their pokey flat closely resembled a florist's shop, overflowing with vibrant yellow honeysuckle and explosions of pink carnations only just contained within vases. And Nahara loved nothing more than telling the story.

She had always known Nigella was obsessed with flowers - the other girl's college room looked like it had lost a war with a garden centre - but she hadn't banked on just how much. Until one day, Nigella plopped down beside her on the grass outside the cafeteria and thrust a bouquet of red tulips under Nahara's nose.

'For you,' Nigella said, strangling the stems so hard her knuckles were white. She wasn't looking at Nahara, but the ground instead, shyness averting her gaze.

'Oh.' Nahara smiled softly, prying the flowers from Nigella's grip. 'They're beautiful, thank you.'

'I'm glad.' Nigella fussed with the front of her skirt, brushing away an invisible speck of dust. 'I spent ages trying to pick the right ones.'

Nahara blushed at the thought of Nigella putting so much time and thought into something like this - for her.

'No one's bought me flowers before,' she admitted.

Nigella's smile flashed the gap between her teeth. 'Is it bad that I'm glad to be the first?'

'Not at all.' Nahara leant her head against the other girl's shoulder. 'As long as you promise me something?'

'What?'

'You'll be the last, as well.'

Nigella pressed a kiss to Nahara's forehead. 'I think you might regret that.'

But the funny thing was, Nahara never did.