If I Was Your Man

7 - More than friends

Months had passed, and Amar found himself thinking about how good life had finally become. He was no longer on the outside looking in. Selah was by his side now—not fully his, but close enough to make his heart ache with anticipation. They weren’t officially together yet, but the energy between them was undeniable. It clung to their every interaction, shimmered in their unspoken glances, and sparked during casual touches that lingered too long.

She made him laugh without trying. She challenged him when he needed it. She showed up even when she was still healing. And for that, Amar found himself falling harder by the day.

Every time Selah smiled at him, every time she thanked him for being there, he imagined a life where she never had to thank anyone again. Where he could be her peace. Her home. Her forever.

One morning after his shift, Amar stopped by a local art shop nestled in the heart of the city. It was a cozy place—cluttered shelves, warm lighting, and the scent of dried flowers lingering in the air. He wandered aimlessly for a while, hoping inspiration would strike.

And it did.

Tucked in the back was a handcrafted wooden picture frame. The grain of the wood was raw and imperfect, like life, and it reminded him of Selah. Strong. Real. Beautiful.

He bought it, took it home, and slipped in his favorite photo of the two of them. It was a candid—Selah had snatched his phone while they were at the park and snapped a bunch of goofy photos. One had caught her mid-laugh with Amar looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

He spent hours choosing the right words to etch onto the bottom of the frame. Finally, he settled on:

"You are my sunshine, you are my rain, You are my essence, you are my pain. I know it sounds crazy to say, But you are the reason I strive to see another day."

The next evening, he handed her the frame. She read it slowly, tears welling in her eyes as she ran her fingers over the wood. She didn’t say much, but the look on her face said everything. Dante had never gone this deep for her. Never tried to reach her soul.

Selah felt like she belonged to Amar, but fear was still clutching her heart. She wasn’t used to being loved this gently.

She knew Amar was a good man. He didn’t just say the right things—he lived them. He was charming, thoughtful, attentive, patient, and when he smiled, it was enough to melt her guard away.

Finding out Amar was the friend Giyani had gossiped about months ago made everything click into place. He wasn’t just a neighbor anymore. He was something like a savior. A warm place in the cold.

Tonight, they were in Amar’s apartment, sipping wine and watching a throwback movie on his big screen. The lights were dim, the mood soft. Selah sat on one end of the couch, legs tucked under her. Amar lounged on the other, his thick arms folded behind his head.

He looked too damn good.

Fresh retwist in a low bun. Black muscle shirt hugging his broad chest. Dark grey sweats hanging just right. His scent filled the room—clean, musky, intoxicating.

Selah tried to focus on the movie, but she caught herself glancing at him again and again.

"Why you staring, girl?" Amar asked, flashing a grin.

"I was not staring," Selah scoffed, placing her glass down. "Don’t flatter yourself."

Amar chuckled, his voice low and teasing. "It’s okay if you like what you see. I won’t tell."

"I don’t," she lied.

He stood up, slow and intentional, then crossed the room and stood in front of her. "Prove it."

She looked up at him, throat dry. He was tall. Solid. Every bit the temptation her body was screaming for.

"You real quiet now," he teased, leaning down until they were face to face. "I bet you can’t go ten seconds without wanting to kiss me if I did this."

He leaned in, their lips barely apart.

Selah could smell the mint on his breath. Her thighs pressed together instinctively. She stared into his eyes, trying to will herself to look away.

But she couldn’t.

Amar closed the distance. His lips met hers, soft and slow at first, then deeper. Her moan escaped before she could catch it.

They didn’t stop. Kisses turned to caresses. Caresses turned to hands exploring.

Amar lifted her into his arms, carrying her to his bedroom without breaking the kiss. Her wine glass hit the floor with a soft thud.

Clothes came off in a trail across the floor. His mattress welcomed them like fate.

"You sure?" Amar whispered against her neck.

"Yes," Selah breathed. "Make me forget everything."

He did.

And when they lay tangled in each other afterward, Amar brushed a damp curl from her cheek.

"You ain’t just something to do for me, Selah. You hear me? I see you. I see us."

Selah blinked back tears. "That scares me."

"Good. Love should scare you a little. That’s how you know it’s real."

For the first time in a long time, Selah didn’t feel broken. She felt held. Desired. Safe.

Over the next few weeks, things between them grew quietly and beautifully. They didn’t rush anything. Amar took her on small dates—museums, food trucks, poetry nights. They talked. Laughed. Healed.

He never pressured her. Just held her hand and walked beside her.

Selah found herself opening up. She told him about her childhood. Her fears. Her mistakes. Amar shared his too—the time he almost lost his brother to the streets, how he used to fight his way through every problem until therapy changed his life.

They were building something real.

One night, after a long day, Selah curled up in his arms on his balcony.

"I think I’m ready to try this. For real," she whispered.

Amar kissed her forehead. "I’ve been ready."

They didn’t need a fancy title. Their hearts already knew.

And even if the world around them tried to break it, they had a bond born from pain, grown through patience, and sealed in passion.

They were no longer just healing.

They were becoming whole.