"You can touch me, but only where I bloom." — Nayyirah Waheed
~~~~~~~
The morning came without urgency.
Zaya lay awake in bed, eyes open long before her alarm. The sky outside was pale, smeared with early light, and her apartment felt still in a way she hadn't felt in days. She wasn't at peace. Not exactly. But the storm of doubt that had been circling inside her had softened into something quieter. Something she could name.
She had not made a full decision.
But she knew this much: she was no longer afraid of wanting more.
Her body still carried echoes of his touch, though it had been weeks. She remembered the way Cael had looked at her, how he had spoken: measured, honest, careful without being delicate. He had offered her not a demand, but a path. A choice.
Now it was her turn to respond.
She rose from bed slowly, grounding herself in routine. She made tea, this time mint and ginger. She opened the windows, letting in air that was cooler than she expected.
She moved through the motions of her morning, but every gesture carried weight. Her fingers lingered longer over the lip of her mug. Her breath came slower. Her awareness was sharper.
Around ten, she sat at her desk with her phone in hand and opened their thread.
She stared at the empty message bar for almost a full minute.
Then, slowly, she began to type.
~ Zaya: "I've been thinking about what you said. About structure. About control. About trust."
She paused, erased the period and the rewrote it.
~ Zaya: "I won't pretend it doesn't scare me a little. Not the idea of you, but the idea of what it might stir up in me."
She re-read it, then tapped onward.
~ Zaya: "But I also know this, I've never wanted to feel more seen. More held. And something in me believes you meant what you said. That it wouldn't be about taking from me, but about holding something with me."
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard again before she finished it.
~ Zaya: "So… yes. I want to try. Not everything. Not yet. But I want to begin."
~ Zaya: "You said Amber is your safeword. Mine is Rose."
She let the name sit on the screen for a moment, then nodded to herself.
Rose felt right. It was soft but not fragile. It bloomed, but it had limits. It reminded her of her own skin: warm, alive, protected by sharp edges if necessary.
Then she hit send.
The message left her phone like a breath she'd been holding for hours.
She sat back in the chair, her palms open on her lap. There was no rush of adrenaline. No panic. Just quiet certainty.
She had not said yes to him. She had said yes to herself, to her curiosity, to her body, to her own unfolding.
Cael reply few minutes later.
Cael: "Thank you for your trust."
Cael: "Come to me Friday night. No expectations. Just awareness."
Cael: "Wear something soft. And bring one object that grounds you. We'll begin there."
She reread the message three times.
She could already feel her heartbeat shifting. Not faster, just deeper. She was stepping into something that might teach her how to be fully present in her own body.
She reached for her pencil, pulled her sketchbook toward her, and on a clean page, she wrote in small script: Rose.
A soft thing that protects itself. A yes with thorns. She closed the book and whispered aloud to herself, just once.
"I'm ready to be touched where I bloom."
🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹
🥀 💥 ❤️🔥 🥀
v𝖊𝘭v𝖊𝘵 𝚙𝔯𝖊𝓼𝓼𝗎𝔯𝖊
🥀 💥 ❤️🔥 🥀
🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹
The rest of the day moved with the illusion of normalcy.
Zaya finished her work, answered emails, reviewed a draft for a client. But under the surface, her thoughts kept returning to the message she had sent. It sat in her phone like a held breath, like the warmth left on a pillow after someone has risen. Her decision hadn't been reckless. It had been chosen. That was what steadied her now.
That evening, just after eight, her phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn't a message he habitually sent but a FaceTime request.
She hesitated only for a second, then accepted.
His face appeared on the screen, lit by warm indoor lighting. The background behind him was soft wood, cream walls, and one open window. His hair looked slightly tousled, like he'd been running his hands through it, and he wore a charcoal long-sleeve shirt that made his eyes seem darker.
~ Cael: "Hey."
His voice came through the speaker low and quiet, but not uncertain.
She angled her phone slightly, tucking her legs beneath her as she settled on the couch. The hoodie she wore slipped a little at her shoulder.
~ Zaya: "Hey."
He looked at her for a moment. Not past the screen, but through it, as if he could still feel her presence, even separated by pixels and distance.
~ Cael: "Can I ask you something?"
She gave a small nod, then said aloud,
"Yes."
~ Cael: "Why rose?"
His tone wasn't casual. It was respectful. Curious in the way only someone who cared would ask.
She exhaled, considering her words.
~ Zaya: "Because a rose is soft. Beautiful. It draws people in. But it protects itself."
Her eyes didn't shift from the camera.
~ Zaya: "It doesn't open on command. It opens when it's ready. When the conditions are right. When it feels safe enough to bloom."
She let that sit for a moment, then added quietly:
~ Zaya: "And if you try to force it open too fast, you destroy it. But if you're patient... it shows you everything."
She paused, then continued, her voice slower now, more certain.
~ Zaya: "And it's red. The color of heat. Of desire. It's bold, but not loud. It's sensual. It doesn't ask to be looked at, but it's impossible to ignore. It reminds me of how I want to feel."
On screen, Cael didn't move right away. His stillness wasn't passive, it was attentive. She could tell by the faint movement of his throat told her he was taking in every word, not just hearing them.
~ Cael: "That's a perfect word."
His tone hadn't changed, but something in it felt heavier, grounded.
~ Cael: "It tells me exactly how to touch you."
The young woman looked down for a beat, her lips pulling into a small, private smile she didn't try to hide.
Cael's expression shifted slightly, more focused.
~ Cael: "For the first experience... I'd like to blindfold you."
Her breath hitched, sharp and shallow, like her body had registered something her mind was still catching up to.
A pulse stirred deep in her belly. It was a flutter of nerves wrapped in anticipation. She felt her fingers tighten against the curve of her thigh. Part of her chest lifted, as if her ribs had forgotten how to hold still.
She didn't look away. He watched her carefully.
~ Cael: "Only if you want it. I will not surprise you. I will not bind you. Nothing will happen without your full consent."
The way he said it wasn't to reassure her. It was to reaffirm her control.
She let the moment sit, her heart moving faster than before. The idea made her nervous but not in a way that made her want to back away. It made her want to know how far trust could stretch before it asked too much.
She nodded, slow and steady. Her voice was clear when she answered.
~ Zaya: "I want it."
It wasn't a performance. It was a choice.
He smiled then, hust slightly but it reached every line of his face.
~ Cael: "Then I will be careful with your darkness."
She looked down for a moment, catching her breath. Her fingers curled loosely around the hem of her hoodie. When she looked back up, she saw something in his expression that wasn't lust, or hunger. It was something deeper. It was Admiration.
~ Cael: "Bring something that grounds you."
~ Zaya: "I already chose it."
He tilted his head slightly.
~ Zaya: "It's a river stone. From years ago. Smooth and warm. Fits right in my palm."
~ Cael: "Then bring it. It's yours to hold while I guide you."
The screen between them went quiet again, not from a lack of words, but from the sense that something important had just been spoken, and heard.
They didn't rush to hang up.
When she finally did, the room felt different.
She looked over at her sketchbook and whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
"I'm blooming. Just not all at once."