Haisley didn’t know whether she was in love.

Countless Saturdays at the library consisted of the soft scratching of pencil on lined notebook paper, the clack-clack-clacking of keyboard keys, the slight turning of musty textbook pages, and—once the ever-daunting submit button had finally been pressed— late-night chats filled with wide-eyed hopes and hushed fears and silly jokes.  It wasn’t long before they both fell into a sort of comfortable rhythm, between studying and talking and reading and laughing, and Haisley felt something stirring in her heart that she couldn’t quite place.  

She’d never been in love before.  In fact, she was nearly certain she was aromantic.  And yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about Sage, and what a funny story they told today!  Seeing their smile always lit up even the dullest moments, and every time they glanced her way, Haisley felt a warmth in her chest that seemed to float like a birthday balloon.

In theory, it was easy to imagine—being in love with Sage.  Haisley envisioned being their girlfriend, them kissing her and calling her “theirs”.  Holding their hand and going on dates, but never really thinking about what they’d actually do on them.  There wasn’t time.  Once conjured, these romantic pictures slipped away like sand through parted fingers, and Haisley knew deep down that they still felt wrong.

So what was this then?  It was love—Haisley knew that much—but it wasn’t romantic and it didn’t feel like anything she’d felt toward family or other friends.  She could talk to Sage, but how?  How could she tell someone she loved them, but not in a normal, storybook way, and expect them to understand when even she didn’t?

She danced around the thought, tried to shove it back so she didn’t have to make sense of it, and still it persisted.  Whispered in her ear every time Sage laughed at one of her jokes, sent her a witty text, or helped her with her homework.  In her mind, still lingered twisted doubts: this must just be romantic, this must be made up.  They made her head spin, kept her up at night overthinking every happy spark she felt at Sage’s glance.

One gloomy night, during their weekly study session, the rain tapped incessantly on the library roof, making chemistry even harder to focus on.  The scientific words on her page blurred, and Haisley closed the book, focusing on Sage instead, their loose brown curls framing their face.  They really did mean everything to her, didn’t they?

__

_Say the word_, she thought.  _Tell them.  _But she didn’t know how.  _Say the word.  Say it.  _But what if they didn’t understand?  What if she said it, and Sage said, “Isn’t that friendship?” or “I have a boyfriend already,” even though Haisley didn’t really want to fit either role neatly?

Thunder cracked, and Sage jumped in their seat.  They began to laugh, then frowned instead when Haisley went back to staring at her discolored chemistry book.

“You okay, Haisley?  Something on your mind?”  Sage was looking at her, eyes shining under the dim lamplight.

“Well, I’ve been thinking,” Haisley started, gripping her hands together as if she was praying to keep them from shaking.  “Sage, I really love you.  It’s not romantic, I don’t think; I know you’re not exactly looking for that right now.”  She chuckled awkwardly.  “It’s more like… a deep connection that’s hard to define, but it’s so real.  I’m not even sure if I want anything to change; I just wanted you to know, I guess.”

Silence encompassed them, filled only by the whirring of the fan above them and the raindrops on the windowpane.  As a small smile spread across their face, Haisley felt a rush of relief mixed with fear.  Haisley read a million thoughts behind that smile, assumed a thousand emotions in those eyes, and for one terrifying moment, she was afraid Sage might just laugh at her.

And then they began to nod in agreement.

“I feel the same way,” they finally admitted, their voice barely above a whisper. “I was actually going to ask you to be my zucchini.”  Haisley raised her eyebrows, heart still pounding like a wild drum.

“Your what?”

“Zucchini.”  Sage grinned.  “I know it’s kind of a funny name; it means queerplatonic partner.  Like, a close relationship that’s not quite romantic, not quite a typical friendship, but something else.”

Haisley’s heart soared.  Not only did Sage feel the same way as she did, but she had the word to describe it: queerplatonic.  A non-romantic way of loving that didn’t fit into any traditional boxes.  A relationship that was whatever she and Sage made of it.  Committed to each other, not as friends or typical partners but as true companions, and Haisley couldn’t wait to discover what that might look like.

That night, she and Sage walked home together, arms linked, huddled under a yellow umbrella, the world around them fading to a gentle, moonlit blur.