7. Egypt
EGYPT
I wasn’t used to this kind of easy. The kind where I could laugh ‘til my stomach hurt, laid out on somebody’s couch in an oversized t-shirt, feet propped on their thighs like it was second nature.
But here I was—belly full from breakfast, hair piled in a lazy bun, controller in hand, yelling at a TV screen while Nasseem laughed his ass off next to me smoking a blunt.
“Babe, what are you doin’?! That’s a grenade—don’t run towards it!”
“I panicked!” I shrieked, throwing the controller down in my lap. “Why would they make the damn button to run look like the button to blow shit up?!”
“That’s literally not how that works.” His voice was calm, but his chest was shaking’ from laughing. “You gotta stop pressing every button like you playin’ Mortal Kombat.”
I squinted at him accepting the blunt he handed me, taking a few pulls, “Okay, but why my character movin’ all slow like he tired? You said this game was high action.”
“That’s cause you sprinted across the whole map with no strategy. Now you’re outta breath and about to get sniped.”
“You know what?” I reached over and lightly slapped his arm before I handed the blunt back to him. “I didn’t come over here to get judged.”
“You came over here to get schooled and look at you—gettin’ bodied by a 13-year-old named 'LilPissy' on the mic.” I couldn’t help it.
I laughed hard, falling into his side. He caught me with ease, one arm slinging over my shoulders, controller in the other hand like it was just another day.
Only it wasn’t. This felt like something else. Something I didn’t have a name for yet.
After a few more rounds—and a lot more shit talking—we finally tossed the controllers aside and crashed on the couch. He flipped through Netflix while I rested my head against his chest, his fingers absentmindedly playing in my hair.
We ended up watching two movies back to back--Friday and Love Jones both black culture classics with a different vibe.
Friday was his pick; Love Jones was mine.
The entire time, we were half-watching, half-whispering dumb commentary between kisses, fingers tracing each other like we couldn’t help it.
“I like you like this,” he murmured somewhere between the end of the second movie and the start of the third, Boomerang.
“Like what?”
“Relaxed, laughin’, being real.”
I looked up at him, his brown eyes soft and gentle. “You make it easy.”
His gaze dropped to my lips, then slowly back to my eyes. “Nah. You make it beautiful.”
He kissed me then—slow, warm, intentional.
The kind of kiss that says stay. It deepened and before I even realized, I was straddling him.
His hands were firm on my thighs as my body settled against his.
Everything between us melted into fire—gentle at first, then needy, then something else altogether.
We made love that night, real and slow. It was not rushed nor was it primal.
It was, just us—bare, honest, connected.
Like every touch was saying something we were still too scared to say out loud.
I kept my eyes on him the whole time, and he kept his on me, like we were silently daring each other to blink first, to break the spell.
But neither of us did. Because in that moment, there was nowhere else I’d rather be and there was no one else I’d rather give myself to.
And when it was over—when our bodies were tangled in warmth and sweat and the kind of breathless silence that came from pure satisfaction—I didn’t try to run.
I didn’t try to explain it away or pretend it didn’t mean something.
I just laid there, head on his chest, fingers laced with his and let myself be.
And when sleep pulled me under later that night, it was with a kind of peace I didn’t know I’d been missing.
Waking up in Nasseem’s bed was starting to feel a little too natural.
The sunlight snuck in between the blackout curtains, hitting my face just enough to warm my cheek but not enough to pull me all the way outta sleep.
What did it, was the sound of him breathing steady behind me, arms heavy around my waist, legs tangled up with mine like he couldn’t let me go even in his sleep.
I didn’t wanna move. I didn’t even wanna blink.
I just laid there a little longer in the stillness.
We stayed like that ‘til his hand slid up my stomach, over the curve of my waist, fingertips dragging slow and lazy across my skin. He pressed his face into the back of my neck, his lips warm against my shoulder.
“You up?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.
“Barely,” I mumbled.
“C’mon,” he said, kissing my shoulder again.
“Let’s shower before we get too comfortable.
” It was too late for that. Still, I followed him into the bathroom.
He ran a shower and when it was hot enough we stepped in, together.
And by the time we stepped out—skin damp, hair wrapped, bodies warm and slow—I didn’t feel like leaving. But I knew I had to.
He threw on some joggers and a tee, and I got dressed in a pair of his basketball shorts, a t-shirt and some of his thick socks. He walked me to his car like it was routine now, like we’d done this a hundred times before.
Not long after, we pulled up in front of my house, and he turned the engine off. “You want me to come back later?” he asked, like it was casual. “Cause I kinda wanna come back later Baby.”
I turned to look at him. “Yeah… you should. And bring a bag.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Bet.”
I bit back a smile and pushed open the door. “See you later.”
“Text me when you get inside,” he said, low before placing a quick kiss on my lips. I nodded then got out of the car walking to my front door, feeling slightly high, like everything in life was just better.
Once I was in the house, I leaned against the door for a second, still feeling the warmth of him on my skin. Then I pushed off the door, pulled out my phone, and hit up Averi.
Me: Pull up to the studio. I got something I need to get out.
The second I stepped into the Aaliyah Booth at LA Records, the scent of sandalwood and citrus wrapped around me like an old friend.
The walls were lined with acoustic panels and inspiration: gold plaques, half-finished lyric sheets taped up on the cork board, a few polaroids of past sessions that Averi insisted we keep pinned.
I’d asked Logan to keep this space as private as possible.
Just me, Ave, and Terri engineering. No distractions.
Terri was already behind the board, glossy lips pursed as she checked levels and sipped on her matcha. She wore her usual all-black uniform—combat boots, ripped jeans, graphic tee of some obscure indie band she probably used to tour with.
“Back in boss bitch mode, huh?” she smirked, glancing at me over her frames. Her Bronx accent came out more when she was focused.
I smiled. “Something like that.”
Truthfully? I was still floating. The last twenty-four hours had felt like a slow spin in the sky. Nasseem’s laugh in my ear, his hands on my hips. The way we played like kids and touched like lovers. The way he made me feel seen even when I was trying hard not to be.
I pulled out my notebook and started scribbling down a few bars. I didn’t know what this song would be yet,but I knew I needed to write it while I still felt it.
Averi walked in ten minutes later, Starbucks in hand and her thick ponytail bouncing with every step. “You beat me here?” she asked, eyes wide. “What happened that you felt so inspired; you and Wall Street broke up already?”
I laughed softly. “It wasn’t even that serious.”
She dropped her bag and flopped into the seat beside me. “You look... annoyingly peaceful. That must’ve been one hell of a date.”
“It wasn’t.” I gave her a look. “It was actually terrible.”
“Oh.” Her brows lifted. “So, you just out here radiating ‘I had good dick’ because…?”
“Because someone else I’ve been seeing gave me a good weekend,” I admitted carefully. “It wasn’t Marcus. But the shitty date with him reminded me of what I actually want.”
Averi blinked. “So, wait, you’ve been seeing somebody else this whole time?”
“Kind of,” I said. “It’s complicated. Been on the fence about it for a while… but this weekend? It felt right, calming. Like, I could breathe around him.” I didn’t say more. Wasn’t ready to.
She studied me for a second, then nodded slowly. “Okay, as long as you good, E.”
I gave her a genuine smile. “I am.”
Terri pulled up the first instrumental—one I’d emailed earlier that morning. The beat was confident but slick, like it knew a secret. I pressed my fingers to the keys, and the lyrics poured out like the ones that had been trapped in my chest all weekend.
He don’t smile easy, but when he do it’s deadly
Low tone, deep eyes, touch that could wreck me
Told myself I’d play it cool
But baby I been actin’ a fool
As I sang, I felt my body lean into the truth of it. That tension I carried every time I touched Nasseem, that electricity that buzzed under every kiss, every argument, every silence.
He got that dangerous vibe
Make you risk your whole damn life
Heart on lock, but I let him in
Say it’s just lust, but I know it’s pretend
We dance close to the fire
Still say we ain’t in too deep
But baby you and me…
We the vibe that don’t sleep
Averi grinned as I finished the take. “Oh, so he’s that type of problem.”
“Exactly,” I muttered, biting back a smile.
We moved fast after that. Knocked out background layers, refined the bridge, and stacked harmonies like honey on a warm biscuit. My voice felt electric today—like every note had purpose.
Next up was a track I’d been playin’ with called Outta Body . I wanted it to feel floaty, drunk off passion, like you were leavin’ yourself behind just to be close to someone who felt like home.
Kisses in the dark like prayers
He undresses all my cares
No gravity, just chemistry
A soft collapse, so heavenly
As I went into the chorus, I started feeling myself.
I’m outta body when I’m with you
Levitating past the truth
You the high I never chase
But I crave it just the same
Don’t save me if I fall through
Just meet me in the blue
Baby, I’m outta…
Outta body with you
We closed the session with something that felt too real. A track I’d started writing weeks ago but hadn’t had the guts to finish until now. Until I’d lived the words.
I know what your hands say
I know what your lips mean
But what about the mornings
When you don’t wanna be seen?
We got silk sheets and secrets
Say it’s just fun but I feel it
We lie still but hearts race
Tangled in love we won’t face
If this ain’t real, then why does it burn?
Why do I stay, why can’t I learn?
We got silk sheets…
And a truth we both conceal
I leaned back after the last take, eyes closed, heart wide open. Averi looked at me like she was holding in a hundred questions. But she didn’t ask. She just said, “This album? Yeah. It’s gonna wreck people in the best way.”
I laughed under my breath. “Gotta wreck myself first, I guess.”
She gave me a look that said she understood more than I realized.
When we wrapped, I hugged her tight and told her I’d text later. I had a grocery list to tackle and a man to cook for. Whatever this was between me and Nasseem, it might still be hidden, still undefined, still fragile. But it was real. And I wasn’t ready to let go just yet.
On the way home, I stopped by Trader Joe’s, picking up ingredients for this honey-glazed salmon recipe I saw on TikTok. I threw in some fresh greens, potatoes to roast, and a bottle of wine I knew would go perfectly with dinner.
By the time I pulled into my driveway, the sky was starting to blush pink across the Hollywood Hills. Inside, the house welcomed me like it always did—quiet, tucked away, warm.
I changed into a fitted romper—comfortable but still cute—and tied my hair into a high ponytail. While the food cooked, I lit some candles, turned on some Ari Lennox in the background, and opened the wine to let it breathe.
The knock came just as I was finishing up the greens.
I opened the door and there he was wearing a white tee, black jeans and carrying a duffle bag which was slung over his shoulder.
Nasseem was grinning like he already knew how the night was gonna end and I couldn’t help the fact that my lips automatically reciprocated his grin in return.
“You really brought a bag,” I said, laughing.
“Told you I was.” He replied. I stepped aside, and he walked in, eyes scanning the place. This wasn’t his first time in my home, he’d been here with our friend group a time or two. “It smells amazing in here,” he said, dropping his bag by the door.
“I cooked.”
“You tryna marry me or somethin’?” he teased.
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. “Shut up and pour the wine.”
He followed me into the kitchen and did just that. We moved around each other like we’d done it a thousand times—him setting the table, me plating the food, both of us vibing to the music like we weren’t falling into something neither of us could stop.
We ate and we laughed. We flirted like it was second nature. And underneath it all… the current was still there. That pull, that gravity, that dangerous vibe we kept pretending we could ignore. But we couldn’t and we wouldn’t. Even if we didn’t say it out loud yet. We were already too deep.