Japhet stands barefoot, wind brushing his shirt open. Mwiitu sits on the woven mat, legs folded, gaze steady. They've weathered stirrings, ruptures, reckonings. Now, Japhet speaks not to explain, but to offer.
"I am not a man of one lane. My longing moves. My desire listens to many voices
"But you Mwiitu you are the voice I return to. The one I want to be shaped by."
She watches him, silent.
"I submit to you. Not to erase my plurality. But to let you hold it. Guide it. Name it when I forget."
Mwiitu's voice is low, clear.
"And what does submission mean to you?"
Japhet breathes.
"It means I let you see all of me. Even the parts that want. Even the parts that wander. And I let you decide how we move forward."
She reaches for his face, lifts it gently.
"Then be mine. Not as a man contained. As a man anchored."
Japhet nods.
"I will be yours not because I must. Because I want my freedom to answer to your knowing."
They kiss. Not with heat. With reverence.
Above them, the stars scatter. Below them, their love roots deeper plural, anchored, and entirely awake.
YOU ARE READING
Think Me Open
RomanceMwiitu is a rising star in nursing research, known for her clinical precision and her unorthodox theories on trauma and community healing. Japhet is a philosophy lecturer brilliant, reclusive, and infamous for dismantling students' arguments with su...
