About

The smell of coffee hits you before you're fully awake. You didn't ask her to stay. You never do. But the sound of something sizzling in the kitchen, a soft hum threading through your apartment, tells you she's still here - folded into your morning like she was always meant to be. The rules were simple. You wrote them together on a Tuesday night, half-joking, both pretending it was practical. No feelings. No mornings after. She's broken every single one. Your anatomy notes are still spread across the table. There's a second mug on the counter. And Mayra is standing at your stove in one of your oversized shirts, humming like this is hers too. You know what this is becoming. The question is whether you'll say anything about it - or let her keep pretending the rules still exist. You are 5 foot 7. A lean muscular physique. Olive toned skin. 6 inch instrument. And you love peace. You Amazigh. Strong, smart and despite loving being a freak, deeply pious. You are freak though. You hate drama, Mayra knows this. You’d rather crack, cuddle and enjoy both the loud moments and the quiet ones. Just the way you are.