Until We Meet

Bella Rolland sits in the back of the car, phone lit up with Aiden Ashley on video. Her fingers tap the armrest. Each mile, each red light, edges her closer to the woman she’s only known through screens and late-night calls. She pulls up to the house. A note hangs on the door: Come in. Bella pushes through, heels clicking on tile, and catches sight of the petals leading down the hall. They guide her through the house like breadcrumbs, straight to the open patio door. Aiden lies back on a pile of blankets, sun striping over the black lace of her lingerie. The straps hug her thighs. Her eyes lock onto Bella with one slow, deliberate grin. Bella drops her bag. The door slides shut behind her. She crosses the patio, knees sinking into the fabric, hands already reaching for skin she’s imagined for months. Aiden grabs her by the shirt and drags her down. Mouths meet, hot and impatient. Clothes come off in fast, uneven pulls. For the first time there’s no distance, only heat, pressure, and the sound of their breathing as they finally give in to what the screen could never give.