Page 28 of My Only

Some rough blueprints in an old sketchbook.

Nothing more.

I never actually thought it would become something real.

But now, here we were.

Standing inside a place that had only ever existed in my head, now brought to life in stone, wood, and glass.

Our home.

Overhead, in the kitchen—just like in the other rooms of the house—was a skylight, this one wider than the others.

A view of the night sky stretched above us.

The stars Ayla always wanted to see were hidden tonight, but even still, the sky was a sight to behold.

She shot a glance over her shoulder as she moved toward the fridge.

Ayla smiled then winked. And just like that, my heart stuttered.

A wave of completion washed over me.

Like everything in my life had finally clicked into place.

Like nothing else mattered.

And I wondered… Did Ayla feel it too?

This weightless, perfect moment?

Because the shit felt too good to be mine alone.

After filling our bellies, we sprawled out in the living room, talking about everything. From furniture shopping to where we would take our first vacation as husband and wife.

Then, we decided to spend just an hour unpacking a couple of boxes.

We figured we could spread it out over the week to keep it from feeling overwhelming.

Ayla cupped her phone, scrolling through a playlist she’d put together.

“Make sure it’s loud,” I told her. “‘Cause how else do you listen to ‘90s R&B?”

“See? That’s why you’re my hubby-lover-friend.” She giggled. “Because that’s the only way to listen to it.”

Soon, the melody of a familiar hit filled our sound space.

“Yo, A,” I said, lifting my head. “You know you got the most stuff here, right?”

She kissed her teeth and waved me off.

“You do,” I insisted, standing to my feet. “I’m on the third box, and most of it is your stuff.”

“Mm-hmm…”

“Three full boxes of books,” I said, crouching down to keep unpacking. “I’m swimming in memoirs, romance novels, biographies, and self-help books over here.”

“Hassani, I know you are not talking.”

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