Page 83 of Siren

“She’s yours too now,” I teased, patting the seat beside me.

He sat down, grabbed a handful of popcorn, and kissed my shoulder. “I don’t mind being recognized if it’s next to you.”

We watched the rest of the film like that—half-focused, half-tangled up in each other. Taraj’s hand on my thigh. My fingers tucked in his. The sound of Diana Ross singing about dreams and sacrifice and beauty filled the room.

After the movie ended, the TV dipped into a string of trailers. Taraj muted it and turned to me, eyes heavy with something softer than lust, deeper than desire.

We didn’t speak. We just moved.

We kissed like there was nothing left to prove, only pleasure to give. He laid me back against the cushions, opened my robe like he was unwrapping something sacred. His body folded over mine and we made love slow, with full hands and full hearts, skin to skin and nowhere to hide.

Afterward, I lay still, his head resting on my stomach, our breaths tangled.

Then something stirred.

Not in my chest. But lower. In that place where melody blooms before you realize you’re humming. Low and unsure at first. Then fuller. Warmer. Something between a question and a promise.

Taraj shifted, his fingers drawing lazy shapes on my hip. “That something new?”

“Maybe,” I whispered.

He sat up slowly, reached for his phone, and hit record without asking.

I hummed again, letting it roll into the quiet, letting the seed of the song plant itself in the room.

I didn’t know the lyrics yet. Didn’t need to. But I knew what it was about. Him. And maybe us too.

What it meant to fall for someone who saw you past the polish. Who touched you like you were more than your voice. More than your image.

Pittsburgh wasn’t supposed to be permanent and it still wasn’t but I hadn’t left despite our collab being finished and the feeling of home reaching out to me.

But love…

Love had a way of rerouting things and I wasn’t just passing through anymore.

I’d stayed.

Because something real was here and he was sleeping in my arms.

TWENTY-NINE

A couple of weeks later…

The rooftop was lit like a dream—soft candlelight flickering against the city’s skin, music swelling into the quiet like it had somewhere to go and didn’t want to rush getting there. I stood off to the side with Sienna’s fingerswrapped in mine, watching Amaya’s eyes well as the first notes of our track played.

It was stripped bare—keys, breath, and intention. A love note dressed in quiet.

We were always more than a moment…

More than time slipping through hands…

We were fate, we were written…

We were love before we knew where to land.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Amaya turn toward Amir. Her lips parted, her eyes already full.

Then he stepped forward, reached into his jacket—and dropped to one knee.

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