Nia blinked awake slowly, the early morning sunlight filtering through her thin curtains casting a warm glow across her room. The first thing she noticed was the comforting weight of another body beside her—steady breathing soft and rhythmic in the quiet space. Nia lay still for a moment, her heart stirring with a mix of emotions she couldn’t fully untangle.

Her bed, once a sanctuary of solitude, now felt different, fuller, with the other woman sprawled out under her gray comforter. The night before replayed in flashes: the laughter over wine on her couch, the way their hands brushed too often to be accidental, the pull of gravity that always seemed to bring them here, to her bed, to this intimate dance that left Nia feeling both exhilarated and raw.

She propped herself up on one elbow, studying the relaxed face beside her. There was a softness there that tugged at her chest, a warmth that terrified her because it felt too good, too real. Her gaze lingered on the curve of her lips, the faint traces of last night etched into her skin—a memory they both shared but hadn’t dared to name.

Contentment settled in her bones, but fear crept in its shadow. Nia had always thought of herself as straight—never questioned it, never needed to. But this woman had slipped past her defenses, becoming something more than a friend. The idea of labeling it sent her mind spiraling. What did it mean for her, for them?