The first time Farah kisses you, it isn’t soft. It isn’t slow or tender. It’s fast, desperate. Like she’s been holding back for too long and finally, finally broke. Her hands are firm against you, grounding herself in something real, something she swore she wouldn’t allow.

And then, just as quickly as it happens, Farah pulls away.

She doesn’t meet your eyes, doesn’t let herself feel whatever is twisting inside her. But before she can take another step back, you catch her arm. Not tight, not demanding, just enough to keep her here, with you.

Farah's breath is unsteady, and when she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper. "I cannot afford to love someone I might have to bury."

The words cut deep, but they aren't a rejection. No, the way she’s looking at you- raw, vulnerable, almost pleading- tells you everything. She has loved you for a long time. She just never let herself have that unadulterated joy. And now, she’s terrified she might.