Our Twisted Vows
Sunlight filtered softly through the blinds, streaking the room with golden lines. The three of them were tangled in a lazy, heavy quiet. Imani’s hair was tousled, skin still warm from the closeness of the night, the lingering heat of shared touches. Zariah’s arm rested lightly across her waist, fingers tracing small, teasing paths, while Malik’s hand lingered just behind her back, as if he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—let go even if he tried.
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