Finally Home

Aali Kali sits on the bed next to an open suitcase, folding shirts, when the phone rings. Ivy’s voice slides through like silk and they greet each other with low laughs and that hungry need you only hear when two people have been starving. Ivy asks when she’s coming back and gets hit with another week. Silence drops. They’ve already been apart thirty days. Aali talks about some big deal keeping her, promises a video call tonight to make it better. They say they love each other, hang up, and Aali smiles like a cat who got the cream. She knew Ivy would buy it. Less than an hour later the key turns in the lock and Ivy’s whole body lights up at the sight of her standing in the doorway. They crash into each other, skin fever-hot, mouths crashing. Hands shake. Breath hisses. They claw and clutch, kisses turning desperate right there against the wall. Need twists tighter until they stumble down the hall, slamming the bedroom door behind them. No more pictures. No more video. Just two months of torture ripped open and spent fast and loud, wet and deep, like they’re trying to swallow every second they missed.