Lovers

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, bathing her in dappled light. Letting out a soft, shallow breath she adjusted her head on my thigh and continued shielding her face from the sunlight under the pretence of reading her short story anthology.

I ran my fingers through her short frizzy hair. Her recent ombre pink dye job had not done much for the quality of her hair but it had gained her several new fans, including me.

She looked up at me, smiling through hooded eyelids. Her thin, spider-like fingers steadily crept up my thigh: bunching my skirt further up my hips.

As she tickled me and the sound of our laughter rang throughout the thicket, I realised something - we were lovers creating love. She was not my girlfriend, not a confidante and definitely not my friend.

Written by Shailaja Yasmine Das

Edited by Rayna Mulherjee

Image Credits: Michael Held https://unsplash.com/photos/gghk1DME6Cw