Sad Girl Hours (2025)
A fun sapphic romance that’s packed with autumn vibes.
I had a lot of fun reading this. I read it for book club after a week-long work trip to the Caribbean, I was excited to dive into the autumn vibes.
The story is a classic YA sapphic romance. Saffron and Nell are second-year university students. Saffron suffers from an extreme case of seasonal affective disorder, while Nell loves everything to do with the autumn, and plans a series of adventures to convince Saffron of the wonders of her favourite season. They catch feelings for each other, and work out how to navigate Saffron’s SAD and Nell’s autism and asexuality. They’re temporarily torn apart when Saffron’s parents take her home because of her poor attendance at classes, but they get their Happily Ever After.
I enjoyed all the small romantic moments between them, and the times when they thought of each other. I read the book after my partner, and every few pages I was texting her a sentence that reminded me of us. (See the numerous quotes below.)
I like that the book includes multiple ace characters, and shows that queer people aren’t immune from making bad assumptions. Nell is frustrated when her dads assume that she’s a lesbian without asking; while Nell and Saffron assume that “doing puzzles” is a euphemism for what their friends Casper and Jenna are doing behind closed doors, but Jenna is ace and that really is all they’re doing for now.
The dialogue felt very natural, as did Nell’s poems. She’s writing an anthology about autumn and identity for a university project, and the poems feel in keeping with what a 20-year-old student might write. They’re not amazing, they’re not terrible. It’s a good balance.
This book was not well received in the book club discussion, mostly due to the quality of the representation, but I had a lot of fun reading it, and I can imagine it being a comfort read I go back to.
Quotes and highlights
Page 54:
“Yeah, we should definitely come ‘watch’ –” I put the word in air quotes – “the eclipse, Saffron. That’s so cool. Are there any other sick astronomological phenomena taking place soon?”
“I love how you’re not only great at arranging words that already exist, you’re also great at coming up with new ones,” Saffron says. “You’re such a talented wordsmith. A real protégée of the great bard himself.”
” Just answer the question.” “Well, as group resident astronomologicaller –” her green eyes gleam with gentle teasing as well as the light from the setting sun – “there’s the hunter’s moon in October, and a hopefully visible meteor shower in November.”
“Nice. We should watch out for both of those too.”
“And there’s always the Northern Lights,” Casper adds nonchalantly, and I whip round to face him just in time to witness him thrusting a whole mini sausage roll into his face.
Page 62, just after Nell proposes the idea of a series of autumn-themed adventures:
Nell is one of my closest friends. I know how much her poetry means to her. I saw her passion for it, the same way she saw my passion for all things space, the very first night we met when there were stars above us and scattered across her dress as we danced together. I thought she looked like the coolest witch I’d ever seen. And she clearly had no idea how beautiful she was, and how effortlessly herself in a way that I both admired and coveted.
Page 67:
“You know,” I say, “it’s such a shame we all only properly met when we’d already had to decide on our living arrangements for this year. We could have got a place together as a group.”
“My word,” Nell says, “maybe you are obsessed with me. Seeing me, like, five times a week just isn’t enough for you, you want to throw making spag bol of an evening together into the mix too?”
I fix her with what I hope is a ‘withering stare’ but I think probably ends up being more of a ‘moderately amused gaze’.
“Don’t we have things to be planning?” I say, despite still not really wanting to plan anything.
“Fine.” Nell draws out the vowels. “It is a shame, though,” she adds, smiling at me. “I really like spag bol.”
I lost the page number, but I felt personally targeted by this line:
I just can’t believe that even my poetry collection about uncertainty needs more clarity. I thought I’d hacked the system but apparently not. How am I meant to sow hints of an incoming revelation when I couldn’t find a revelation of my own if it stood in front of me in the street wearing a sandwich board that read Hello, Nell. This is a revelation especially for you.
Page 174:
“All of your vibes are incredible. You definitely have the coolest costumes here,” Harpreet says, and I have to agree.
“Your Carmilla costume is also peak vibes,” Nell says, shifting over to let Harpreet sit down in our sleeping-bag circle.
“I love that you got the specific vampire inspiration.” Harpreet smiles.
“Well, I know you want to write your diss next year on all the different queer allegories in vampire fiction throughout history—”
“Camilla through to Twilight and Buffy fanfic, yep.”
“—so who were you going to come as, a heterosexual vampire? I don’t think so.”
Page 180:
Nell seems to focus at the sound of my voice, directing all her attention back to me. “So, what’s up? What can I do to help?”
“Nothing.”
The scare/thrill of nearly getting caught has made me feel less like crying. Less like anything really. I just feel empty.
“To which question?”
“Both. I’m fine.”
“Saffron.” I can hear the soft italics in the way she says my name.
Page 193:
I beam at her. “Excellent. For our first stop, how does getting changed out of our costumes and making cinnamon pumpkin pancakes sound?”
“Sounds perfect,” Saffron says without pause.
I wonder whether she’s really that eager, or if she’s still beating herself up for ‘ruining’ my Halloween morning and will agree to anything I say. I’m starting to wish I could open up her head and give her brain a) a poke to tell it to stop being so mean to her, and b) a little kiss and tell it it’s trying its best.
Page 200:
I make eye contact with her in the reflection of the mirror as I pull the top on and notice a pink flush not just on her cheeks, but on the sliver of neck I can see between her gold curls.
Interesting.
Maybe I might not be feeling the things that I’ve heard can manifest in the rose hues that I noticed creeping across Saffron’s skin, but I think I’m enjoying making Saffron feel them.
Page 257:
I force the words out but they’re as quiet as hers just were. “You didn’t finish saying – why did you want to come on this thing, knowing that you’re deathly afraid of heights?”
“Deathly’s a bit extreme really. I’m scared but I’m not dead, Saffron. And I’m doing it because I thought you’d like it. I know you don’t want to be an astronaut yourself, you want to remain earthbound, but I thought you still might like to feel as though you’re in space for a couple of minutes, like you’re a little closer to the stars.”
“I…”
How can she just say things like that and not expect me to fall apart. Or want to kiss her. Or both – my eyes brim with water, and I have to stop myself from grabbing her face and kissing those chapped lips.
Page 287:
“You were very much yourself from day one.”
“And also absolutely appalling at sports,” Dad adds.
“Oi. At least I showed merit in other things.”
“Writing, yes,” Pops says. “Where you’re not at risk of accidentally maiming anyone else.”
“I don’t know,” Saffron says seriously. “Have you seen her when she gets really into it, and her hands are flying across the page, and she forgets where she is? She could take an eyeball out for sure.”
“That is very true actually. Excellent point, Saffron.”
“OK, I see how this holiday is going to go. I’m going to be ganged up on from all angles, aren’t I?”
“I’m sorry.” Saffron loops her arm through mine. “You know I love you. But also yes, probably.”
Page 294:
There are clothes spilling out of my walnut wardrobe that is probably a health-and-safety risk now. And then there are six lamps dotted round the room because I’m a vehement opponent of the Big Light and a giant proponent of creating atmosphere with lots of tiny warm ones. I don’t even think the bulb in my overhead light works any more.
Page 302:
“OK.” I shrug my bag off my shoulder and reach in. “Would these help?” I hold out a mini bag of salted pretzels.
She stares at them in my hand for three blinks and then looks up at me for another three. “You brought pretzels.”
“Yes.”
“You often get snacky on a walk?”
“No. Well, sometimes. But no, I’ve made sure to have some in my bag any time I go out with you ever since the day in the maze when you asked me for a giant pretzel. Giant pretzels tend to go mouldy with prolonged tote-bag exposure, but these are fine.”
The blinking’s back. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Um. No?”
“That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done. You know that, right?”
A smile tugs up my face. “You arranged a full bucket list of activities to try to make me love autumn and winter because you knew they made me sad. I think that beats a bag of pretzels.”
Page 327:
“It’s only what you deserve,” I say. “Well, it’s actually less than you deserve. I’d have got you the moon if it weren’t too big to gift-wrap and also if it wouldn’t have—”
“—devastating effects on the earth and its climate,” she finishes.
“Exactly what I was going to say. You’ve taught me well.”
Page 349:
Nell’s dads look round at all this commotion, and I suddenly feel very conscious of the fact that I undoubtedly look quite rumpled. I’m hoping that having been huddled in a literal cupboard will cover our backs when Nell’s grandma sidles over to us and says, “Hello, dearies. Am I mistaken or do you appear to have swapped lipstick shades?” She gives us a very overexaggerated wink before sidling away again.
Nell and I exchange a guilty look and then promptly dissolve into giggles.
“I’m so sorry about my family,” Nell says.
“It’s fine.” I laugh, taking the glass of champagne Nell pours for me. “I love them, honestly.”
“I love you,” Nell says, clinking her glass to mine. “And you’re very kind.”
I smile back at her. “I love you too.”
Page 393:
Love isn’t just an aimless feeling: it’s something you do too. I want her to not just think of it as an abstract noun – I want her to use it as a verb. I want her to keep doing it, keep loving me.
And I have my friends. They drove all this way.
This time, the thought doesn’t make me feel guilty: it makes me feel warm.
What a joy it is to be loved by them. All of them.
Page 398:
“Oh, I’m fine. You look really warm, though. I think you should go outside. Just for a minute.”
“No way,” I whisper-shout over the music. “I’m not risking missing Vivvie’s dress.”
“What if there’s … a bear … outside?” Casper says. “And if you don’t go outside, you’ll miss it.”
I take a beat to just look at him. “Are you seriously telling me I should go outside, not support our friend with their huge event, and also risk getting mauled by a very lost bear? Is that really the story you want to stick to?”