"To be with someone who quiets your mind and stirs your senses… that is a rare kind of intimacy."
— Beau Taplin
~~~~~~~
The rooftop bar was low-lit and amber, tucked above the city like a secret.
Laughter moved in waves across the table, rising and falling between clinks of glasses and bursts of stories told too loudly.
Zaya sat at the center of the circle, legs crossed, a slice of red against the dusky gold interior.
She was wearing a slip dress, red like heat, like pulse, like she'd dared the night to look at her and not blink. It hugged her curves with the kind of quiet drama that didn't ask permission. Gold hoops caught the light at her ears. Her locs were swept up high, exposing the line of her neck. Strappy heels in a darker shade of wine completed the look.
She always dressed with intent. Tonight was no exception. Even if her friends thought she'd thrown it together on the way out the door.
They were five at the table, each woman striking in her own way.
Noor sat directly across from Zaya, tall and lithe, with sleek black hair and sharp cheekbones that made her look like she'd walked off the pages of a fashion spread. Her lipstick was always a bold matte, tonight's choice a deep mulberry. She worked in marketing, read essays for fun, and always had a solution for everyone's mess.
Hana, next to her, was a blur of movement. Petite, curvy, and honey-blonde with ringlets that bounced every time she laughed, which was often. She had a way of making waiters blush and turning every anecdote into a one-woman show.
Mariam and Dalia were curled together on the long end of the booth, almost indistinguishable from a distance, both with pale blonde hair, barely-there makeup, and the kind of softness that seemed effortless. Mariam wore pastels like armor and had a sarcastic edge hidden just beneath her sweetness. Dalia, quiet, observant had the kind of mind that noticed everything and said very little.
~ Noor: "So wait," she said, leaning across the table "You're really not seeing anyone? At all?" she asked surprised once Zaya confirmed that she was single
~ Zaya: "Since when is that a crime?"
~ Hana: "Not a crime. Just… unexpected. You're usually the one with the best stories."
Zaya took a slow sip of her drink, a mezcal cocktail with chili on the rim. It burned just enough.
~ Zaya: "Maybe I'm finally getting boring."
~ Noor: "Impossible. But listen,I actually know someone. He's cute, really cute. Works in product design, doesn't have any weird opinions about women, and he wants a relationship."
~ Zaya: "That's your pitch?" she tilted her head
~ Hana: "No weird opinions and fully employed? Honestly, he sounds like a unicorn."
~ Noor: "I'm serious. "You'd like him. He's mature. Knows how to listen. Very intentional. And not, like, a walking red flag in expensive shoes."
~ Mariam: "Sounds like you're trying to date him yourself." she giggled
Noor gave her a look, then turned back to Zaya.
~ Noor : "Just meet him once. One drink. Worst case, he's boring and you leave early."
Zaya smiled, and it was genuine.
~ Zaya: "I appreciate that, Noor. Really. But I'm not looking for a relationship right now."
That quieted the table for a second, surprised. Zaya didn't flinch under their eyes. It wasn't a lie. But it wasn't the whole truth, either.
The whole truth was still sitting in her phone, under a name she hadn't yet said out loud to anyone else. A presence she hadn't fully defined.
She looked at her friends. They were beautiful, soft, loved. They wore their relationships like linen, something that had molded to them over time. It wasn't envy she felt. Just recognition. They had chosen safe. She was walking toward something very different.
~ Zaya: "It's not that I'm against it. I just think… some things deserve room before you name them."
The table softened at that.
Noor leaned back, wine glass lifted again.
~ Noor: "Fine. But don't blame us when you're single at the Valentine's dinner."
Zaya laughed, rich and low.
~ Zaya: "I'll bring a sketchpad."
Hana toasted to that.
They drifted into more conversation: shoes, scandals, someone's terrible first date with a guy who ordered milk at dinner.
The rhythm returned, smooth and easy. But every so often, Zaya's mind drifted. To that touch behind her ear. To his voice, warm in the dark. To the message still unopened in her phone.
By the time they were hugging goodbye on the curb, she felt both full and far away.
~ Noor: "Text me when you get home." she said, looping an arm around her.
~ Zaya: "I will."
~ Noor: "Let me know if you change your mind about the unicorn."
Zaya smiled and stepped into her ride.
As the door closed behind her and the lights of the city blurred past again, her phone vibrated in her clutch.
[Cael: "Dinner. My place. Friday. 7."]
She read the message, then leaned her head back against the seat.
🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹
🥀 💥 ❤️🔥 🥀
v𝖊𝘭v𝖊𝘵 𝚙𝔯𝖊𝓼𝓼𝗎𝔯𝖊
🥀 💥 ❤️🔥 🥀
🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹
The next day.
The street was quiet when Zaya arrived. The kind of calm that only came in the richer parts of the city, where space was wide, where the air didn't feel like it was pressed between buildings.
The car rolled past manicured hedges and tall iron gates until it stopped in front of a house set back from the sidewalk: clean white stone, black accents, large windows that glowed gold from the inside. Nothing flashy. But every inch of it looked like it belonged to someone who paid attention to detail.
Zaya stepped out, heels clicking softly on the paved path as she walked up to the door. Her heart beat a little harder than usual, but not from nerves. It was anticipation: steady, deliberate, warm.
She was wearing burgundy this time. The dress was body-hugging, long-sleeved but thin, with a square neckline that exposed her collarbones and the top of her chest. The fabric was soft and slinky, and underneath it, she wore nothing but skin. No bra. The air brushed her nipples through the fabric with every movement, and she felt the awareness of it like a secret, something she wasn't hiding, just carrying quietly.
When the door opened, Cael stood there in black slacks and a deep gray shirt with the sleeves casually rolled. He looked at her the way he always did: grounded, focused. Nothing about her presence surprised him, but all of it pleased him.
His gaze swept down her body and paused at her chest. Not in a vulgar way. Not even in hunger. Just recognition.
~ Cael: "You wore intention." he said.
She tilted her head slightly.
~ Zaya: "You invited me to your home. I assumed I'd be stepping into something serious."
He stepped aside to let her in.
The interior matched the man: high ceilings, clean geometry, acolor palette of cool grays, black, and warm wood, floor-to-ceiling windows lined the far wall, where a courtyard opened up with trimmed stone, a few deliberate plants, and the slow glow of lantern-style lighting.
A long wooden dining table sat off to the left, unoccupied. Instead, the action was in the kitchen: a wide island, black marble, wine already poured. A pot simmered on the stove. Jazz drifted through the space, soft and unintrusive.
~ Cael: "I hope you're hungry." he said, walking toward the kitchen.
~ Zaya: "I'm starving" she replied, letting her fingers trail over the edge of the marble as she followed.
He handed her a glass of wine, deep red, nearly purple under the light. She took a sip and let the richness coat her mouth before speaking.
~ Zaya: "I was with my friends last night. All of them are in these sweet, settled relationships. One's engaged. Another's moving in with her partner next month."
Cael leaned against the counter, watching her over the rim of his own glass.
~ Cael: "And what about you?"
~ Zaya: "I told them I wasn't looking for anything serious."
~ Cael: "And is that true?"
~ Zaya: "I think I'm looking for something specific. And I want to see where it goes without having to define it too early."
He nodded, swirling his wine.
~ Cael: "That's honest."
~ Zaya: "They tried to set me up with someone. A designer. Wants something real, kind and emotionally stable. Apparently not a narcissist."
~ Cael: "You declined."
~ Zaya: "I did."
~ Cael : "Why?"
She met his eyes over the top of her glass.
~ Zaya: "Because I wasn't thinking about him. I was thinking about someone else."
He didn't respond with words. But the space between them shifted again, subtle, magnetic, charged.
🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹
🥀 💥 ❤️🔥 🥀
v𝖊𝘭v𝖊𝘵 𝚙𝔯𝖊𝓼𝓼𝗎𝔯𝖊
🥀 💥 ❤️🔥 🥀
🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹
They ate at the kitchen island: homemade pasta, sautéed vegetables, something grilled with lemon and herbs. It was simple but rich. Every bite was balanced.
Zaya found herself relaxing more with every forkful, her body moving slower, her breathing deeper. She hadn't realized how much of her week had been tension until now.
Conversation flowed easily: her recent sketches, a new gallery opening, the texture of certain charcoal brands. He told her about a client in Milan who wanted a house that "felt like a chapel but behaved like a studio."
~ Zaya: "You work like an artist but with math." she told him
~ Cael: "I like control. But I don't like rigidity."
She drained the last of her wine as he stood and began to clean the counter. She watched his movements: efficient, clean, but never rushed. The man made folding a towel look composed.
When the music shifted to something slower, lower, he looked at her and motioned toward the hallway behind the kitchen.
~ Cael: "I want to show you something."
She followed him down a short hallway, past a closed door, until they entered a room that looked like a workspace. One wall was covered in framed sketches: crisp lines, elevations, angles and soft curves layered on tracing paper. There was a wide desk in the corner, a leather chair, stacks of books organized without being precious.
She walked slowly to the nearest sketch and leaned in.
~ Zaya: "This one....I like the weight in the base. It's grounded, but it still breathes."
Cael stepped behind her. She didn't hear him approach. But she felt the air shift again. His voice came near her ear.
~ Cael: "You see what others miss."
She turned her head slightly, not enough to face him fully, but enough that his breath brushed the edge of her cheek.
~ Zaya: "I'm trained to notice tension." she murmured.
~ Cael: "Are you noticing it now?"
She didn't answer.
Then he said, quieter:
~ Cael: "You remember what I texted you."
She nodded, eyes still on the sketch in front of her.
~ Cael: "I said I wouldn't touch you again until you asked me to."
Her breath caught.
~ Zaya: "I remember," she said softly.
~ Cael: "And now?" his voice stayed low.
She stood completely still, the fabric of her dress stretched across her back, her nipples sensitive under the thinnest layer of cloth. Her pulse had begun to throb quietly at the base of her throat.
She turned slightly toward him. She looked up.
~ Zaya: "I'm still deciding." she said.
He didn't press. Didn't lean in. But he didn't move away either.
And in that space between wanting and waiting, her entire body began to ache.