আমাদের (Us)

CW: Sexual content

The taste hit first—bitter kola nut crushed between the back teeth. Dry, tannic, grounding. Tashnia sat at the edge of the couch with the shell tucked in her cheek, the earthy flavor sharp on her tongue as she listened to the slow sizzle of incense coiling from the abalone shell on the windowsill. Frankincense, heavy and sacred, filled the one-bedroom like a hush after prayer.This was how her grandmother in Bangladesh used to cleanse a house when her spirits grew restless. Usually before covering herself in all black clothing and repeatedly mumbling spiritual mantras in her native tongue demanding the unwanted spirits to leave her home at once. Something in Tashnia's youth held her in awe of the diverse, yet well disciplined nature of her Indo-Aryan spirituality . Her own inner spirit gracefully welcomed it .

She hadn’t planned to burn the incense today. But something in her stomach felt off.Like weight in her abdomen. Her insides suddenly shuft. Then came a knock. Her eyebrow raises in curiosity as her ears registered the familiar rhythm . The rhythm seemed unsure, as if faltering slightly but nevertheless picking up in confidence as if the hand remembered it's true home. Like someone who was initially unsure if they still had permission to be there. She stood slow, barefoot, the faded rug warm under her feet from the sun filtering through blinds. No one came to her small condo in South Atlanta without calling first.Buthe wasn't really a guest was he ? Her eyes involuntarily rolled in mock annoyance as she opened the door and she gasped as she was taken back by his presence There he was. In the flesh

Aaron.

A name that violently took charge of her emotions. Rendered her sense of control useless. From stabile to fragile at just a meer whisper from inquiring lips . An effect she resented only cause she prides herself in being dependent. Her look of annoyance replaced by concern as she studied him. Her inner thoughts gripped her brain like reigns as her pinned up sexual frustrations release a familiar warmth in her middle. The longing she had been feeling for months now for slow, and passionate yet aggressively controlling, back to back sessions of unlawfully branded sex with the very person towering over her small frame. She smiled as he smiled at her . Her body radiated in heated sensuality. Her almond colored skin perfectly defining the swell of her breasts as they rose and fell with every breathe she took. Her eyes fiery and filled with a mysterious yet mischievous twinkle in the rare occasion she would give anyone a chance to catch her attention. A look that sparked a variety of ridiculous rumors amongst her peers that she practiced some kind of sexual sorcery that captured men and women alike and caused them to be controlled sexually by her . Her sex slaves who often said , was seen by several witnesses summoning them at will to engage in her wicked sexually charged acts . Ridiculous. Tashnia just enjoyed getting fucked like everyone else. Seconds passed yet it seemed it was years as she gazed over his face. It was like she were performing a scan of his emotions, his memories . She felt his eyes on her as well causing her legs to weaken as she became moist, crossing her legs while licking her lips involuntarily. A slight moan escaping her throat as she reminisced on their past. She thought back to a time when they both were young and in different stages in life. One particular stage filled with debauchery. A time that was overwhelmed with an almost primal lust. Sexually charged energy unmatched by any in both of their past relationships.

He looked different. Slimmer. Not in body, but in the eyes. Like he’d shed something—but not sure if it was skin or soul. His hoodie was soaked at the edges from the drizzle, natural hair damp and clinging to his temples. Without any other word, he held out a wooden box. Dark-stained, and cherry accented wooden remnants that revealed markings etched in native Mohican markings . Hand-carved. She noted as she studied , poked and prodded . It was the kind of box one might find in corner shops ran by men with eyes that remember a homeland they haven't seen in twenty years. She stepped aside .The smell of frankincense reached for him like it remembered his blood—part Mohican, some sliver of Somalia woven deep in his dna. He used to joke about it when they were younger. Calling himself “a tomahawk raised by Orishas” A memory that spoke volumes in regards to both of their spirituality . But today, he looked like a man trying to find home in silence. His spirit relaxed involuntarily. She always had that calming effect of him. Its amazing how she could turn him into a sexual demon with just a beckoning of her finger,or a lick of her lips. Just a slight movement would send him into a sexual abyss he never wanted to leave. The groping, the gripping, the tasting, the mounting, the moans The screams. The sweating and gasping afterwards . His thoughts were interrupted when the door clicked shut behind him. He sat on the floor like she fondy remembered he used to, legs spread in opposite direction, back straight, box resting in between his legs. They didn’t say anything to each other for a long minute. Just staring at it. Then finally his voice crackling: “It’s from my great grandfather. The one I had learned was of Mohican Bloodline.” Tashnia raised an eyebrow, chewing her kola slow. “I thought your mama said he died in ’94.” Aaron nodded. “Our spirit never dies” His eyes sharp, keen as his suddenly locked with hers . "Our souls forever lives" The box creaked as he opened it. Inside were bundles of hand-written letters, feathers, a small leather pouch, and what looked like a small piece broken from a flute. The scent that rose from it was of a rich thick honey-like sap , fresh tobacco leafs and mothballs touched by someone or something older than both of them. He picked up a folded note, edges cracked and water stained. He turned it over in his palm like it was an ancient talisman. Like it might point to something he hadn’t known he was missing. Tashnia sat across from him, arms resting on her knees.“Are You gon’ read it?” she asked, her voice soft but grounded. He didn’t answer. He just closed his eyes.And for the first time in a long time, he listened to the incense crackling, the hum of the walls, the weight of memories amongst two past lovers threading itself through silence. Once friends ,then enemies but now their relationship was a mixture of lust, sexual frustration, unspoken truths and secret resentment .Tashnia spat the kola shell into her palm. This wasn’t about the letter, she thought.

"What is it?" She asked, a hint of humor in her voice.

He dropped the aged piece of paper back into it's weathered box .

She was startled to glance up at his eyes,that were usually bright, mischievous and sparkling with life -and see pain. Something he rarely displayed . Especially with her. She swallowed the lump on her throat and damped her suddenly dry lips with a drink of water . Not breaking eye contact throughout the entire ordeal, Aaron spoke up with a sharp,deep, yet emotionally charged tone and said a simple word that would lead to not so simple results .

"You."