ACCIDENTALLY YOURS

THURSDAY – TWO DAYS AFTER THE FIGHT, TWO DAYS AFTER THE SEX

Maya needed air.

Not the literal kind. The emotional kind. Her chest had been tight ever since Leo fell asleep beside her like nothing had happened. Like his tongue hadn’t erased her name just to whisper it again in bed. Like she hadn’t come apart beneath him, angry and aching and full of love she didn’t want to admit.

So she took herself out. A solo brunch. One of those airy little garden cafes tucked between quiet lanes in Lavington. The kind of place with white umbrellas, fake grass, overpriced smoothies, and jazz playlists that sounded like heartbreak with saxophones.

She wore denim shorts and an open white shirt over a strappy top. No makeup. No effort. Just vibes and her notebook.

Zariah walked in like she knew the sun belonged to her. Golden skin. Loose green jumpsuit hugging a soft, dangerous body. A nose ring that sparkled like a warning. Maya noticed her mostly because the woman asked the waiter for extra chilli flakes before ordering food.

Respect.

Their tables were close. Maya’s phone died. Zariah noticed.

“You need a charger?” she asked, offering her power bank casually.

Maya blinked. “You’re either too nice or trying to poison me.”

Zariah grinned. “Only to men.”

They clicked instantly.

Maya joined her at her table. Within fifteen minutes they were talking like old friends about exes, Nairobi traffic, bad dates, and why soft life is expensive even for soft girls.

“You ever been so deep with someone,” Zariah asked, sipping her mojito, “that even after the breakup, you still feel them when your bed shifts?”

Maya laughed. “You’re either a poet or still texting your ex.”

Zariah smirked. “Maybe both.”

Maya shrugged. “I’ve got one of those too. Half angel, half asshole. Fucks like a god, disappears like a ghost, comes back like he never left.”

Zariah nodded slowly. “Those ones always taste like addiction.”

They laughed. They clinked glasses. They didn’t know.

SAME DAY – 5:40 P.M. – MAYA’S PLACE

They Ubered back to Maya’s apartment together.

Zariah had nowhere to be and Maya didn’t want to be alone. The air between them was real not forced. Just two women vibing.

They curled up on the couch with wine, Spotify, and gossip.

Zariah got comfortable. Removed her shoes. Let her hair down.

Maya stood to pour another glass.

Then a key turned in the door.

She blinked. “What the...?”

Leo walked in, holding his helmet under one arm, sweat glistening on his neck.

And stopped cold.

His smile dropped. “Zariah?”

Zariah turned.

Paused.

“Maya’s place?” she asked, confused.

Leo looked between them. “You two know each other?”

Zariah stared at Maya. Maya stared at Leo. Then both stared at each other.

Maya’s voice cracked. “Wait... he's the ex?”

Zariah’s mouth parted. “You’re the girl from his bed?”

Leo stepped forward. “I didn’t plan this. I had no idea you two...”

Maya held up a hand. “Don’t. Just...don’t.”

Zariah’s jaw clenched. “You said you were done with me.”

Leo’s voice rose. “And I was. Am. This...this is just insane.”

Maya turned to Zariah. “Why didn’t you tell me who he was?”

“Because I didn’t know I needed to. Because I didn’t know it was him.”

Zariah grabbed her shoes. Her pride.

Maya folded her arms, trying not to look at Leo. “Did you sleep with her recently?”

“No.”

“But you’ve seen her.”

He hesitated.

Zariah answered for him. “Last week. He came to get his watch. He kissed me goodbye.”

Maya’s stomach twisted. “Wow.”

Leo shook his head. “That wasn’t...It wasn’t like that.”

She whispered, “I let you inside me. I let you see me.”

His voice dropped. “I saw you. I see you. Every fucking day.”

She walked past him, into her bedroom.

He followed.

THE BEDROOM – STORM AND FIRE

She turned on him, eyes blazing. “You came back into my life. You broke my walls. And all this time, you were orbiting her.”

Leo stepped closer, his voice low. “She doesn’t have my body. She doesn’t have my mind. She doesn’t have my fucking soul, Maya. You do.”

Her lips trembled.

He grabbed her waist. Pulled her in.

She tried to push him away. He didn’t let her.

He kissed her, rough, deep, desperate. Their mouths crashed. Teeth. Tongues. Her anger melted into moans.

“You don’t get to fix this with sex,” she gasped as he lifted her onto the dresser.

“I’m not fixing it,” he growled. “I’m proving it.”

He kissed down her neck, pushed her shorts aside. Slid two fingers in, deep and wet.

Her head hit the wall. “Leo…”

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Even when you hate me.”

She clenched around him. Tight.

He dropped to his knees. Tongue licking, teasing, tracing her clit until she came against the dresser, legs trembling, fingers in his hair.

He stood. Undressed. Pulled her onto the bed.

And fucked her slowly.

Like apology.

Like surrender.

Like he wanted to cry into her skin and leave pieces of himself inside.

They came together, her moaning his name, him groaning into her mouth.

AFTER

He lay beside her, chest rising. She stared at the ceiling.

“No more secrets,” she whispered.

“No more,” he replied.

But her heart still ached.

Because no matter how deeply he entered her body, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else had already lived there once and maybe still left footprints.