Page 93 of Shapes of Love
When Kai reaches for my hands, I don’t pull back. Part of me wants to agree. And part of me wants to retreat into the safety of what I know, of what’s expected of me. Because maybe I’m complicating things into a shade of gray that shouldn’t exist. Life is black and white—romance or friendship.
But what Kai and I share isn’t romantic love. It’s not a regular friendship, either. Or maybe it is, because it feels just as deep, only more committed. And if there’s something I’ve learned these past couple of months, it’s that love isn’t a monolith.
Maybe this is just the shape we’ve given to the love we have for each other.
“If you’d still have me as your life partner,” he whispers. A thread of unease weaves into his expression when I don’t reply.Partner—the weight of the word settles into thecorners of my heart. I let myself imagine what that would mean.
I like the idea of visiting his grandpa after a writing session and FaceTiming Mia. I like the idea of us living together, fighting over groceries and the limited space in the fridge. I like the idea of Asher staying over, moving in with us when he’s ready. I can almost see Kai drawing at his desk while I help Asher rehearse and Muse naps on the couch. I like the idea of the three of us spending the holidays at home, baking cookies with my sister, driving to the beach with Mia.
I like the idea of being partners, whatever meaning we choose to give it.
“I love you,” I say, leaning forward on my knees to wrap my arms around him. He freezes for a second, as if taking in my words, then relaxes into me.
These are words I never thought I’d get to say. Or if I did, I thought I’d have to pretend they meant something different. But I mean them now. I love him. I love him in the least romantic way. I love him in the most fundamental, profound way.
He tightens his grip around me. “I love you too, Sasha.”
The music outside screeches to an abrupt halt, then resumes, this time in Spanish. My brow furrows when Fonsi’s “No Me Doy Por Vencido” starts playing. I shoot Kai a glance—this is one of my and Mia’s favorite songs and our go-to karaoke jam—but he just sighs and buries his face in his hands.
“They’re so embarrassing,” he mumbles under his breath.
When I glance out the window, Mia and Asher arecrouched behind a bush, wrestling for control over a boom box. Asher holds the speaker over his head where Mia can’t reach, but she steals his phone and changes the song again, which prompts Asher to chase her around the yard. Mia’s laughter drifts down the street, making me grin.
“Seriously, love. You had one job,” Kai calls, peeking out the window and shooting Asher a look.
“I’m innocent,” Asher says, still running after Mia. “She stole my phone and ruined the mood. Also, I told you it would have been better if you held the boom box from the start.”
“I’m not showing up to someone’s house holding a boom box,” Kai responds. “Extremely cringe.”
“It’s sweet,” Asher goes on, turning his face up to me with a smile. “So, did you say yes?”
“This was all you?” I sweep my gaze between them and Kai in disbelief.
“No, I don’t associate with failure,” Kai says. He looks away, hiding a blush behind his hand. “Remind me to never involve those two in another plan. They’re awful crime partners.”
“Asher’s playlist was putting me to sleep,” Mia complains, and Asher trips her. There’s a line of black cars at the end of the street, which I can only assume are his bodyguards. Mia brushes leaves off her jeans. “Don’t you know Sasha at all? Seriously, men are useless.”
“Ah, so that’s where the music was coming from,” I say. Mia and Asher smile at me from below, and my heart swells. These people right here, they’re my home. They’re what love means to me. “Come here, idiots.”
Soon, the echo of hurried footsteps reverberates through the house, and Asher and Mia burst into my room, tackling me in a hug. Sandwiched between them, Kai taps his finger on my hand. The sunlight streaming through the window casts a warm glow over his face.
Our eyes meet, and a silent understanding passes between us.
“Platonic soulmates?” I offer, holding out my hand.
He takes it, and this time he doesn’t let go, like he’s ready to hold it forever. When he grins back at me, mischief and happiness dance in his eyes. “Platonic soulmates.”
I guess Mia was right. Love does win in the end.
