The bathroom pulsed with the soft rhythm of dripping water. Each drop echoed in the silence, slipping over the edge of the sink and pooling onto the tiles. Kiara sat still, hands covering her face, breath trembling in and out. The faucet’s overflow went unnoticed—her mind was louder.
A swirl tightened in her stomach as she fixated on the meeting with Clementine—at Clay’s office, of all places. Odd choice. The restaurant Clemmy worked at was the perfect little spot where they could’ve met up like normal people. But no, therapist's office it was. Clemmy insisted—she had a session right before, and the timing just “worked out.”
Kai leaned into the sink’s edge, her elbows resting, palms still pressed against her cheeks. Her mind spun through a carousel of questions: What should I wear? Why the hell did I even ask her out? Should I bring flowers? How do I not spiral into a cringe-fest again?
Then—bam. The door swung open, flooding the room with a sudden glow of bubblegum pink.
Kai’s head snapped up. Riya stood in the doorway—wrapped in pastel pink silk, hands planted firmly on her hips, bare feet squelching slightly on the water-slick floor.
“Turn off the fucking faucet, Kai!” she snapped, eyes sharp enough to slice her head.
Startled, Kai scrambled to shut the water off, fumbling like she’d been caught red-handed. She twisted the knob too hard, slipped, nearly kissed the wet tiles—then caught herself with all the grace of a startled deer.
Riri arched a brow. Kai shot her a look.
“Shut up,” she muttered, half-whining as she shoved the door closed in Riri’s smirking face. Riri’s laughter echoed down the hallway, annoying and warm all at once.
Alone again, Kai turned to the mirror. Her reflection stared back: flushed skin, tangled hair, sweat clinging to her temples. She grimaced. With a slow exhale, she peeled off her damp shirt, exposing her uneven chest. Then off came the pajama pants—plain underwear, slightly hairy legs. She slipped them down, baring her soft, unshaved vulva to the mirror and herself.
Without ceremony, she stepped into the tub and leaned back, resting her head on the edge. The scent of chocolate chip cookies drifted in from the hall—Riri must’ve been baking again.
Kai closed her eyes and began to lather up. Sugarcane shampoo, honeyed conditioner, the soft scrub of a loofah against her skin.
After scrubbing herself clean, Kai stepped out of the bathtub, pulling the drain plug with a splash. She dried herself with deliberate care before moving on to her hair, then wrapped a towel around her body and slipped out of the bathroom.
She made a beeline for her wardrobe — minimalist and dark-toned, a sharp contrast to Riri’s explosion of pink aesthetics. Without hesitation, Kai let the towel drop, her bare form on full display. Riri, lounging on the couch with a textbook in her lap, didn’t even flinch. Neither did Kai, unfazed by her best friend’s casual presence.
Holding up a layered top in one hand and a black linen shirt in the other, Kai stood in front of the mirror, still very much undressed, contemplating her look. She tossed a glance back at Riri, indecisive.
“Pick one,” she demanded, tapping her foot.
Riri sighed like this was the hardest decision of the day, giving Kai a slow once-over filled with mock judgment. “Girl, you’re literally naked. Just go with the black one.”
Rolling her eyes, Kai pulled on a dark blue underwear set and then slipped into the black shirt, turning to Riri again with two bottoms in hand — a pair of baggy jeans and some new denim shorts.
YOU ARE READING
Invisible String Of Love
RomanceIn the dimly lit waiting room of the therapist's office, a young woman sits with tense shoulders and determined eyes. She's just come out of her session-relieved, but still tangled in a quiet storm. She's a survivor of a traumatic kidnapping, and it...
