I guided Shanti to my room, each step up the staircase punching a new tender spot into my brain as I contemplated what it was I was actually doing right now.

I’d left my room in a mess and quickly picked up a few clothes as soon as we walked in. My bedroom wasn’t nearly as cozy as Shanti’s, but I tried my best by turning on the lamp next to my bed and setting my laptop to play the only chill music I had—a mix that was literally called “Soft Shit.” Shanti stood near the door, surveying the space. I did the same from my spot near my desk.

Needing something to do, I blurted, “I need some water. You need some water? I’m gonna go get us some water.” Then I rushed by her and back down the stairs to get this all-important water from the kitchen. I gulped down an entire glass before refilling it and another and slowly making my way back up the stairs.

What exactly was meant to happen here? What did I expect? What did Shanti expect? Was I prepared to meet anyone’s expectations at this point?

When I came back in, Shanti was leaning against my desk, facing the door. She looked up when I entered, adjusted her glasses, and smiled. All three actions together immediately soothed the rapid beat of my heart. I kicked the door closed behind me and handed over her glass of water. I leaned against the desk beside her. We sipped. Then sipped again.

Shanti’s arm pushed into mine, gentle but firm. I pushed back, just a little. Soon she was standing in front of me, placing our waters on the desk and removing her glasses. Soon her lips were on mine, pressing not too softly. My mouth fell open with a breath and our tongues met. Something inside me swelled and my chest expanded to accommodate it. My hands gripped the edge of the desk—the bruise on my left hand pulsing—but when her body bent into mine, her chest meeting my own, her stomach pressed to me, all I wanted to do was bring her closer. So I did. My hands left the desk, found her waist, and pulled her in.

Soon she was whispering into my ear, “Can we lie down?” and I was already leading her to the bed.

Shanti leaned over me and ran a finger along my jawline. Her thumb found my lower lip and gently pressed downward, opening my lips so she could run her tongue slowly between them. The wetness of her tongue sent a surge of yearning deep into my chest and lower still. When she looked at me, I think she saw it. She kissed me again, more deeply this time, and let her hand follow the path of my longing, over my breast, along my stomach, undoing the button and zipper of my jeans.