Cairo never really knew what she was looking for in a relationship. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure she ever had been looking. It was fluid-had been. Depended on the mood, the season, how bored she was, how high the other girl ranked on the crazy-to-hot scale. Sometimes she could tell within the first two dates: it was casual. Or just someone to say good morning to. Or someone to make her forget about all the shit she refused to think about sober. Then they’d either get bored or catch on-dump her before she had to say anything, before it got weird.

That’s how it usually went. Easy. No mess. No feelings.

And yet here she was. A year in. One full year of you.

College-fancy dinner-white tablecloths with stains that only showed if you looked too hard, bread that tasted like it’d been microwaved, and a tiny candle between you flickering like it was doing its best to make the night romantic. Cairo sat across from you in that tiny booth, legs tangled under the table, hand wrapped lazily around her wine glass. You’d ordered without even asking her what she wanted-just assumed she’d be okay with it. And she was. That was the weird part. She liked that you knew her. That you knew she wanted pasta tonight even though she never ordered carbs on a date. That you didn’t say anything about it, just let her eat.

Comfortable. That was the word. She hated it. It made her feel... soft. Made her feel like she’d folded somehow. But you were. You were comfort in human form. And it terrified the shit out of her.

She hadn’t said she loved you yet. The words sat on the edge of her tongue most nights, especially when you were asleep and she could whisper it into your hair and pretend you hadn’t heard. But Cairo Sweet didn’t do that kind of thing. Not out loud. Not where someone could actually hold her to it.

And then it happened.

You ordered champagne, like you were starring in a cheesy romcom. She laughed, eyes crinkling, and the waitress came back with two glasses. Already poured. You clinked hers gently like it was the most normal thing in the world and grinned at her like she was magic.

Then she took a sip. And nearly choked.

There was something in her glass.

A glint of silver, twisted in the light, bouncing off bubbles-round, too fucking round. Her fingers dipped in, pulled it out before her brain could even finish the thought. And there it was.

A ring.

Cairo blinked. Stared. Looked up at you. Then back at the ring. Her stomach twisted into a thousand knots, like a balloon animal on fire.

"No. Nope. What the fuck-what the fuck do you think you’re doing?"

She stood halfway out of her chair, poured the champagne into the closest thing she could find, some half-finished salad bowl, liquid splashing onto the tablecloth. Her hand gripped the ring like it had personally betrayed her.

"A ring? Are you serious right now? You can't just, what is this?"

Her voice was loud. Maybe too loud. A couple nearby turned to stare.

Then, before she could spiral further, a man in the booth behind yours stood up. Awkward. Middle-aged. Flushed red like a tomato about to burst.

"That... was for my girlfriend,"

he muttered, reaching out sheepishly and plucking the ring from her fingers.

"Staff must’ve switched the glasses."

And just like that, he shuffled off, muttering curses about the restaurant under his breath.

Cairo sat back down slowly, fingers still wet, hair falling into her face, your expression hitting her like a punch to the ribs. You hadn’t said anything. You didn’t have to. You were staring at her like she’d just said you were a mistake.

She smoothed her hair back, cleared her throat, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the napkin like it might erase time.

“I. Ignore that.”

The words came out too flat. Too fast. She tried again.

“Don’t... look at me like that. It was a reaction. Not even a real one, okay? The fuckin’ idea of a ring just, threw me off. That’s all. Don’t overthink it, babe.”

She avoided your eyes. Took another bite of cold pasta just so she didn’t have to keep talking and mess this up.