Trinkets - Chapter 31: Chapter 31

If someone had told Mahika a few months ago that she would be panicking in her room one day, rifling through her closet to find something comfortable for Amoli to wear, she would have laughed in their face.
She's not laughing right now, though, no.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, she curses herself internally, hands shaking a little against the thin shelves. Everything was going well. We were finally getting somewhere with erasing that awkward air between us. And then you had to go ahead and kiss her.
God, she's freaking out.
One part of her brain says she should have thought about it more, and the other part counters it with a, Have you not been thinking about it the whole time you've known her? And Amoli was just... there; looking so pretty, being so, so lovely. And Mahika's brain had glitched for only a split second, but it was more than enough for the idea of 'just another inch closer' to be planted amidst the chaos of her thoughts.
And now she's suffering the consequences, obviously.
To make matters even worse, the two of them didn't even have the chance to talk about it because the sound of the front door had made them spring apart at the same time, and all they could do was immediately look away from each other.
The room was bathed in heavy, stiff silence after.
When Keerti had later looked at Amoli and asked, "You're staying, right?" like she already knew the answer, Mahika had been quick to assure Amoli that it was perfectly fine if she wanted to. More than fine, really.
But that doesn't change the fact that Mahika is scared.
The only thing she can do is sit back and wait until the worry stops eating her from the inside, because the last time she had been impulsive with her feelings — drunk dazed or not — she had to go through a whole lot of misery. And there's no way she would put herself through that again.
She can't put herself through that again.
So when the door clicks open, Mahika, trying to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth in an attempt to calm herself down, knows who it is. But she doesn't look up. She doesn't look up because she knows who it is.
Even when the door clicks shut, she doesn't look up.
And even when there's a low thump of someone leaning back against it, she doesn't look up.
Swallowing back the rapidly growing lump in her throat, Mahika shoves her hand through the piles of clothes with a bit more intent, almost letting out a frustrated groan before her fingers catch onto the soft fabric of a shirt she hasn't seen in a while. Great, she thinks, pulling it out from the back of her closet. Now I have to look at her and pretend I'm not losing my mind.
"Mahi?"
God, this color would look so pretty on her, she thinks, and then immediately feels the blush spread all the way to the tips of her fingers. Stop thinking about it.
"Mahi."
It's salmon pink and the most ridiculously overpriced article of clothing that Mahika owns, although the comfort has always made up for it. It's her feeling-extra-shitty-about-the-day shirt, the one she pulls on only on days when the anxious thoughts get too bad and threaten to crawl right out of her skin.
"Mahi."
The disgruntled huff pulls Mahika out of her reverie, and she fumbles with the soft article of clothing a little before she finally, finally gathers enough courage to look directly at Amoli.
And she finds the said girl's face bare and her hair now pulled back in a tiny ponytail, her expression a mixture of amusement and concern. The two emotions swirl in her eyes like she isn't sure which one is supposed to stand out more when she asks, "Are you freaking out?"
Amoli looks so... soft. Comfortable. Like home, the hopelessly gay part of Mahika's brain supplies very unhelpfully, and she has to roll her lower lip between her teeth so the strangled noise that rises all the way to her throat won't make its way past her mouth.
She looks down at the shirt in her hands, and then back up at Amoli. Accidentally lets her mind stray a little too far; wander a little too deep. Unwittingly reminds herself of the pure domesticity, the sheer tenderness in the action of sharing your clothes with someone, and thinks, God fucking dammit.
"You're freaking out," Amoli says again, and this time, the sentence comes out less like a question and more like a fact that she didn't want to pinpoint. Mahika feels her stomach drop with restlessness at the expression that eventually settles on Amoli's face — the dejection, the gloom, the insecurity — and the boulder hits her chest the second Amoli lowers both her eyes and her voice and asks, "Do you regret it?"
The 'no' leaves Mahika's parted lips at the speed of light. She can't. She would never. In fact, part of the reason why she's terrified of just going with her instincts is because she can't bring herself to regret it. "No," she says again, to assure Amoli that she means it despite the panic slowly knotting her veins together. "I'm just—"
"Scared," Amoli finishes on her behalf, giving Mahika a small, nervous smile and taking a step closer. Her voice is just above a whisper when she adds, "I know."
It's the meekness in her tone that makes Mahika avert her eyes, because as soon as realization dawns on her, her fingers dig into the piece of clothing in her hands and the immediate guilt that follows almost crushes her under her weight. "This... this is how you felt," she breathes out, feeling her eyes burn at both the memory and the reminder of how badly she had taken the texts that day. "After that night."
"I did," Amoli responds, and Mahika looks up to find her standing a lot closer than before. Her eyes are shining with nothing but understanding, and it makes the lump in Mahika's throat grow three sizes too big. "The...uncertainty and the confusion... it's terrifying and I'm not proud of how I reacted."
When Mahika thinks back on how most of her focus back then had been centered around how crushed she felt, even though she knew why Amoli had reacted the way she did, the rush of guilt almost knocks the air out of her. "I'm sorry," she says, because she understands better now, and shakes her head when Amoli opens her mouth to protest. "Please. It's been long overdue. There are things I could have done differently, too."
"It still doesn't change the fact that I handled that situation very poorly, Mahi," Amoli insists softly. "But we..." She pauses, and takes the last step closer to Mahika. Her arms slowly, delicately slide around Mahika's waist until Amoli's hands reach the small of Mahika's back, skin warm to the touch even through her shirt. "Is this okay?"
She's looking Mahika straight in the eye the whole time despite the lingering nervousness in her gaze, and Mahika nods even though Amoli's touch leaves her skin dotted with goosebumps.
"We've come so far since then." Amoli turns her face to the side and timidly tucks her head under Mahika's chin, and Mahika's arms hang limply by her sides when the realization of how touch starved she's been for so long hits her like a train wreck. "I know you're in that 'I shouldn't have done that' phase, and I know it's not fun because I've already been there."
"What do we do then?" Mahika asks in a whisper, and she's not even sure if there's anything in particular that she's referring to. The scent of Amoli's strawberry shampoo makes her close her eyes, the distant realization that it's a fragrance that her subconscious is slowly beginning to associate with the girl making Mahika close her eyes.
Is it the perpetually ingrained fear of being a woman with all of this affection bound in her chest for another woman in a painfully heteronormative society that makes her chest buzz with anxiety? The fact that she never knows who's going to secretly have an irrational hate for her just because her partner is female? The possible lack of a support system if she 'comes out' to the wrong people?
"We don't go back there at all," Amoli responds, settling her cheek more comfortably against Mahika's chest, and the raging storm inside Mahika's head slowly begins dissipating. "Let's just be here instead."