29

We Find Love - Daniel Caesar

Mariah's POV

It started the morning after the fight.

I didn't even need a text to know Kamala was already gone. I felt it in the quiet when I opened my eyes. The bed beside me still warm, but empty. No coffee brewing, no footsteps, not even the faint rustle of her robe. Just cold silence and a blank phone screen.

I waited two hours before I sent the first text.

I'm sorry.

No response.

So I tried again.

Please don't shut me out.

Nothing.

By noon, the apology flowers I ordered were delivered. White tulips—her favorite. I attached a note:

I love you. I messed up. Please talk to me.

Still nothing.

By the time Monday rolled around, I was already exhausted from hoping.

I got to class early, just to see her. But when she walked in, her eyes didn't even scan the room. She looked right through me.

Cold.

She stood at the front of the room, her voice clear and steady as always. "Good morning, class. Let's begin."

But she didn't look at me. Not once.

I raised my hand just to see if she'd call on me. She didn't. She skipped right past me, as if my arm wasn't even in the air. I wanted to crawl under my desk.

For the rest of the week, I watched her avoid me like I was poison.

Every time class ended, I tried to catch her.

Every time, she disappeared before I could say a word.

I wrote a note. Slipped it under her office door.

Can we talk? I miss you.

Nothing.

I texted again.

You don't have to forgive me right away. Just... please don't hate me.

Still nothing.

By Friday, I was spiraling.

I had barely eaten, barely slept. I reread every conversation we'd ever had. I played her old voicemails just to hear her say my name. I stared at her Instagram wondering how someone could look so calm while I was falling apart.

⸻

That night, I laid in bed, phone clutched to my chest. I had cried so much my voice was hoarse.

I stared up at the ceiling.

She was everything. And I pushed her away with my silence, my phone, my selfishness.

So I did the one thing I hadn't tried.

I got in my car.

I drove to her house.

It was late—almost midnight. I sat in my car for ten minutes just trying to breathe. Then I climbed out, heart racing, palms sweating.

I knocked once. Then again.

Nothing.

I turned to leave—but then the door creaked open.

Kamala stood there in a T-shirt and sweatpants, hair tied back, eyes guarded.

She didn't say anything.

Neither did I.

For a long second, all we did was stand there—me on the porch, her in the doorway, like two people on opposite ends of the earth.

Then I whispered, "Can I come in?"

She stepped aside.

I walked past her, into the house we used to feel so safe in together.

I turned to face her, but she didn't move closer.

"I've been trying," I said, my voice shaking. "I sent texts. I sent flowers. Notes. You won't even look at me in class."

Kamala's arms crossed over her chest. "Because looking at you hurts."

That stung.

"I know I messed up," I said. "But it wasn't like that. I wasn't doing anything wrong. I just... I just felt disconnected and I didn't even realize I was hurting you."

She scoffed. "You think it's about Michelle?"

I swallowed. "Isn't it?"

Her eyes flashed. "It's about the fact that you shut me out. We were supposed to be partners. And when I finally get you in my arms, you're texting someone else."

"I wasn't cheating," I snapped, my voice cracking.

"No," she said. "You were just somewhere else. While I was trying to be here."

The silence thickened between us.

"I love you," I whispered.

She looked away. "That doesn't fix it."

"I know. But I'm still saying it."

Her jaw tightened.

"I'll do anything to fix it," I said, taking a step closer. "Anything, Kamala. I miss you so much I can't breathe. I haven't eaten. I haven't slept. I feel like half a person walking around campus. And I don't care if I sound pathetic. I just... I can't lose you."

Her eyes finally met mine.

There was pain there. But something else too.

Softness.

Longing.

"I hate how much I still want you," she murmured.

My heart cracked open. "Then take me."

⸻

Kamala's POV

She tasted like tears and desperation. And I wanted every bit of it.

I pushed her up against the wall, kissing her like I'd been starving. Because I had. Starving for the sound of her voice saying my name like that. Starving for her hands on my body. Starving for something real in a world that had started to feel fake without her.

She whimpered into my mouth, and it only made me grip her tighter.

I took control.

She let me.

Because that's what we needed—me to reclaim her, her to give in.

"Bedroom," I said, voice rough.

She nodded, already breathless.

I didn't wait. I led. I stripped. I commanded.

And she followed like her life depended on it.

⸻

Mariah's POV

I don't know how long it lasted. Hours? It felt like time didn't exist. There was just skin, sweat, hands pulling, mouths searching, teeth grazing, tears mixing with kisses.

She was dominant, yes.

But this wasn't punishment.

It was worship.

Her hands were everywhere—firm, demanding, but still so familiar. She kissed every part of me like she was retracing a map she'd lost in a storm.

When she slid the strap on, my whole body shivered.

She didn't say much. Just looked down at me like I was a puzzle she already knew how to solve.

And she solved me.

Over and over.

I cried out her name like an apology.

She kissed me like forgiveness.

⸻

By the time we collapsed back into each other, everything felt blurry—like I'd been rewired.

I curled into her, heart pounding, body aching in the best way.

She ran her fingers down my back, slow and steady.

"I'm still mad," she whispered.

I nodded. "I know."

"But I still love you."

I looked up at her.

"Then we'll be okay," I said.

She didn't answer.

But her hand stayed on my skin.

And I knew.

We were healing.

_______

Here. DAMN 🙄🤚🏽