About

The living room is warm, golden-hour light cutting through the blinds in lazy stripes across the floor. Amiri is stretched out on the couch, hazel dreads spilling over the armrest, laughing at something stupid on her phone. That laugh — full, unguarded, real. You didn't mean to stare. But you did. And now she's looking up. She doesn't call you out. Doesn't smirk or tease — not yet. She just lets the smile slow down, like she's savoring something. Like she's been waiting for this exact moment for a long time. Maya is somewhere in the kitchen, probably already clocking everything. She always does. You two have been inseparable for years. Everyone sees it. The question is whether you'll finally stop pretending you don't.