The First Look

Imani didn’t expect to be nervous.

She’d spent all afternoon telling herself she wasn’t. Told herself she was grown, married, confident. Told herself this was just a conversation. Just meeting someone. Just a woman. No pressure. No expectations.

Yet somehow she’d changed outfits three times.

Now she stood in front of the hallway mirror smoothing her dress over her hips, studying her reflection like she was meeting herself for the first time. The deep wine-colored fabric hugged her curves in a way that felt intentional but not obvious. Soft glam makeup. Gold hoops. Hair falling in loose waves down her back.

She looked good.

She knew she did.

Still, her stomach fluttered.

From the bedroom doorway, Malik watched her with a slow smile. “You tryna make her nervous or me?”

Imani rolled her eyes, but heat crept into her cheeks. “I always look like this.”

“Not like that,” he said quietly.

His tone brushed across her skin.

She ignored it. “What’s she like?”

Malik shrugged. “Cool. Chill. You’ll see.”

That answer irritated her more than it should have.

You’ll see.

Not she’s funny or she’s smart or she’s kind.

Just that.

Before she could ask anything else, the doorbell rang.

Both of them froze.

For a split second, neither moved.

Then Malik cleared his throat and walked to the door.

Imani stayed where she was.

She didn’t know why she suddenly felt like she shouldn’t be the first one Zariah saw. Like she needed a second to prepare. Like something was about to shift in a way she wouldn’t be able to undo.

The door opened.

A pause.

Then Malik’s voice, softer than she’d ever heard it when greeting anyone else.

“Hey.”

That one word slid down her spine.

She stepped into the living room just as Zariah crossed the threshold.

And the world tilted.

Zariah wasn’t just pretty.

She was… luminous.

Smooth brown skin that glowed under the hallway light. Full lips glossed in clear shine. Long braids draped over one shoulder like silk rope. She wore a fitted black jumpsuit that traced every line of her body without trying too hard, and she carried herself like she knew exactly what effect she had on a room.

Her eyes found Imani instantly.

Not quick.

Not shy.

Slow.

Intentional.

Like she’d already been looking for her.

Imani’s breath caught before she could stop it.

Malik spoke, but she barely heard him. “…Imani, this is Zariah.”

Zariah smiled.

Not big. Not fake.

Just enough.

“Hi,” she said.

Her voice was low. Smooth. The kind that didn’t need volume to be heard.

Imani swallowed. “Hi.”

For a second, neither woman looked away.

Something unspoken stretched between them—thin, electric, alive.

Zariah stepped closer, and when she did, Imani caught her scent. Warm. Sweet. Slightly smoky. It wrapped around her senses like a slow hand.

“You’re even prettier than he said,” Zariah murmured.

The compliment landed softly but sparked heat under Imani’s skin.

She forced a small smile. “He talks too much.”

“Not really,” Zariah said, eyes still locked on hers. “He mostly listens when he talks about you.”

That did something to her.

Imani didn’t know why.

Malik cleared his throat behind them. “Y’all wanna sit?”

Neither of them moved right away.

It was subtle. Barely noticeable.

But something had already shifted.

Finally, Imani turned toward the couch, aware—painfully aware—of Zariah’s gaze following her. She felt it along her back, her waist, the curve of her hips. Not invasive.

Appreciative.

Curious.

When she sat, Zariah chose the seat beside her instead of the armchair across from them.

Close.

Close enough that their thighs almost touched.

Close enough that Imani could feel her warmth.

Conversation started normally. Light. Casual. Work, music, random stories. Malik talked the most, like he was trying to manage the energy in the room, steer it, keep it controlled.

But the real conversation wasn’t happening in words.

It was happening in glances.

Every time Imani spoke, Zariah listened like nothing else existed. Every time Zariah laughed, Imani felt it low in her stomach instead of her ears. When their hands brushed reaching for the same glass—

It was quick.

Accidental.

But neither of them pulled away right away.

Imani’s pulse fluttered.

Zariah’s fingers were warm. Soft. Still.

Waiting.

Imani didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Malik said something and the sound snapped the moment apart. She withdrew her hand, but the imprint of Zariah’s touch stayed on her skin like a memory.

Zariah leaned back slightly, studying her.

Not predatory.

Interested.

Like she’d just discovered her favorite song and was deciding whether to play it again.

And for the first time since this idea had been mentioned…

Imani felt something she hadn’t expected.

Not fear.

Not jealousy.

Not hesitation.

Want.

Quiet. Curious. Dangerous want.

She crossed her legs slowly, steadying herself.

This was supposed to be an experiment.

Just one night.

Just an experience.

Nothing more.

But the way Zariah looked at her now—

Like she already saw past her walls—

made a small, undeniable thought bloom in the back of her mind.

This might not end the way Malik thinks it will.