Amara awoke to the soft rustle of leaves outside the hut. Morning light streamed through the woven shutters, painting golden lines across the floor. For a moment, she lay still, her body heavy with lingering warmth, her breath caught in her chest as last night rushed back into her mind.
The kiss.
Her lips tingled as though the memory itself carried weight. She pressed her fingers against them, almost to reassure herself that it had truly happened — that Nysa's breath had brushed her skin, that their mouths had met — not by accident, not forced, but because in that one fragile instant, Amara had leaned forward, heart louder than reason.
Her stomach twisted. What have I done?
Shame curled through her like fire. She rolled onto her side, clutching the thin blanket as if it could shield her from the memory. She had sworn, again and again, that she would not allow this bond to root itself. She had told herself she was strong enough to resist. And yet — she had kissed her.
Or had Nysa kissed her?
Amara squeezed her eyes shut. The truth blurred in her memory. She recalled Nysa's hand cupping the side of her face — steady, firm, yet tender in a way Amara hadn't expected. And then… no. Amara had moved first. She had leaned into it, despite every warning screaming inside her chest.
Her heart beat too quickly, a frantic rhythm that echoed her confusion. The phantom ribbon around her wrist pulsed faintly, alive with memory.
She buried her face into the pillow. "Why did I…" Her whisper vanished into the silence.
---
When she finally forced herself up, Nysa was gone. The fire pit outside had been stirred, fresh ash marking where wood had burned through the night. A waterskin rested on the table, left deliberately for her.
Amara's chest sank with something she couldn't name. Relief? Disappointment? Perhaps both.
She busied herself with small tasks — washing her face, braiding her hair with clumsy fingers, tidying the corner of the hut. Each motion felt hollow, her mind replaying the kiss again and again. Sometimes it returned sweet, almost unbearable in its tenderness. Other times it cut like a whip, reminding her of every sermon she had ever sat through, every warning that love like this was forbidden.
By the time Nysa returned, Amara had built a fragile wall of composure around herself.
The warrior stepped through the doorway, shoulders broad, carrying a bundle of fresh herbs and two rabbits strung together. Her eyes flickered to Amara briefly, then away again. She set the bundle down, her movements careful, deliberate.
"Morning," Nysa said at last.
Amara murmured, keeping her gaze on the floor. "Morning."
Silence stretched between them, bristling with the unspoken.
Later, while Nysa cleaned the rabbits, Amara sat at the table, pretending to braid reeds into a mat. Her hands shook too much; the reeds snapped, piling uselessly. Finally, frustration boiled over.
"Are we just going to pretend nothing happened?" she blurted.
Nysa froze, knife hovering midair. Slowly, she lifted her head, eyes narrowing as they met Amara's.
"Do you want to pretend?" Nysa asked quietly.
Amara's breath caught. The way Nysa looked at her — steady, searching — made her want to vanish into the floor.
"I don't…" she murmured. "I don't know what I want."
Nysa exhaled, a sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh. "I'm not going to force you, Amara," she said, voice low, almost rough. "What happened… it was real. But if you wish to deny it, I'll follow your lead."
Amara swallowed hard. "It's not that simple."
"It never is," Nysa replied, eyes softening.
The silence that followed was unbearable. Amara rose suddenly, muttering about fetching water, though the jug was still full. She fled the hut before Nysa could speak again.
---
By the river, Amara knelt in the grass, dipping her hands into the cold current. The water slid over her skin, grounding her. She stared at her reflection — wide brown eyes, flushed cheeks, lips she couldn't stop remembering.
She whispered to the water, "I can't love her."
The reflection didn't answer, only rippled with the current. But inside, her chest ached at the lie.
---
That evening, duty forced them together. The Elders had sent for them, warning of unusual stirrings in the outer forests. Rumors whispered of shadows moving where they should not, and outsiders glimpsed near the village borders.
They walked side by side, Amara's wrist tingling faintly with the phantom pull of the bond — invisible now, yet more present than ever. Every accidental brush of their arms sent sparks skittering across her skin. She kept her eyes forward, afraid that meeting Nysa's gaze would betray her heart again.
At the temple, the Elders spoke of vigilance and the need to strengthen bonds during uncertain times. Their words lingered unnervingly, as if they sensed the storm inside Amara.
When they were dismissed, Nysa walked silently beside her back to the hut. Neither spoke until the door shut behind them.
Amara finally turned, words breaking out like a flood. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be what they want, what you want, what I…" She stopped, breath ragged.
Nysa's eyes softened. "I don't want you to be anything but yourself. Even if that self is afraid."
Something cracked inside Amara then, a tear she could not mend. She turned away, clutching her arms. Her throat burned with unshed words: I'm afraid because I want you. I'm afraid because last night felt right.
But the words stayed buried.
That night, they lay down on opposite sides of the hut, backs turned to each other. The silence stretched, heavy and unyielding.
Amara closed her eyes, pressing her face into the blanket. Her body remembered the kiss even as her mind tried to forget. And in the aching dark, she realized the truth she feared most of all:
No matter how far she ran, she could no longer deny the pull of her own heart.