Chapter 34 — Amara: The Wanting
(Amara's POV)
Twenty-three.
That's what I'll be in exactly two weeks.
Twenty-three years old. And still untouched. Still waiting for something that never seemed to come.
I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, freshly showered, a towel wrapped around my body, water clinging to my skin like the thoughts I couldn't shake off. I wasn't a child anymore. I wasn't even a teenager. And yet, I felt so far behind.
Everyone around me had stories. Experiences. Memories of kisses stolen under moonlight or messy moments tangled in sweaty sheets. And me? I had none of it. Just a heart too tender, and a body no one had ever explored.
I used to tell myself I was saving it for the right person. For love. For something that meant more than just skin. But lately… I wasn't so sure.
Because love? It felt like a distant star—beautiful, but impossible to touch.
I wrapped the towel tighter around my chest and sat at the edge of my bed. My phone buzzed beside me. A message from my best friend, Zariah.
Zariah: Birthday plans?? I hope you're ready to get WILD 😏
I smiled faintly and typed back:
Me: I don't know… maybe just something quiet.
Zariah: Girl, you say that every year. We need to shake things up. You turning 23!! Let's do something that makes you feel alive.
Alive.
I stared at that word for a long time.
That's what I wanted, wasn't it?
To feel something.
To feel wanted. To feel seen. To feel heat crawl across my skin, fingers tracing places I didn't even know could ache in anticipation.
I wasn't in love. But I was full of longing.
And maybe that was enough.
Maybe I didn't need forever right now.
Maybe I just needed one night.
The thought made my stomach twist with nerves and something darker. Excitement. Fear. Guilt. Desire.
Could I really do it?
Let someone in, even if just for the night?
I didn't want to be the girl who overthought everything anymore.
I wanted to be bold.
And besides, with my new job starting next week, I wasn't going to have time for dating—or hoping, or waiting.
I'd just landed a position as a personal assistant to the CEO of a major marketing firm in the city. It was huge. Competitive. Demanding. I was grateful—but already exhausted just reading the orientation email. Early mornings. Late nights. Constant movement.
There wouldn't be space for feelings. Just spreadsheets and coffee and deadlines.
Maybe this birthday was my last real chance to do something for myself before life swallowed me whole.
I lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Could I find someone who'd make it feel right?
Someone who didn't want to mock me for being new at it?
Someone who'd be kind… gentle… careful?
A part of me hated that I was even thinking like this.
But another part—stronger, louder—whispered: you deserve to be touched. You deserve to feel desired. You deserve to know what it's like.
I closed my eyes and imagined it—not the act, but the warmth. The way someone's breath might hitch against my neck. The way strong hands might trace my waist like I mattered. The way I might close my eyes and, even for a few moments, stop feeling like I was always on the outside of love.
The next morning, I met Zariah at a small café near the studio where she worked.
She gave me a knowing look as I stirred my coffee.
"You've got that 'something's on my mind' face."
I shrugged. "Just thinking."
"About?"
"My birthday."
She smirked. "Oooh. Big plans after all?"
I hesitated. "I want to do something different this year. I want to feel something."
Her eyes narrowed. "Are we talking something specific?"
I swallowed. "I want to lose my virginity."
Her jaw dropped. "Wait. For real?"
I nodded slowly. "I don't want to wait for perfect anymore. I just want to feel… close to someone. Even if it's not love."
She reached across the table, squeezing my hand gently. "You know I support you no matter what. But promise me you won't do it with someone who doesn't deserve you."
I nodded again, grateful.
That night, back in my room, I scrolled through old photos on my phone. Me at eighteen, grinning with braces. Me at twenty, dancing in my dorm room. Me at twenty-two, standing in front of the gallery with Arya, both of us laughing in the golden sunlight.
So many versions of me, still untouched by the intimacy I longed for.
Maybe it wasn't about sex.
Maybe it was about reclaiming my body.
My story.
My right to want more.
I stood in front of the mirror, letting the towel drop from my body. I looked at myself—not with shame, but with quiet curiosity.
This was me.
Unloved, but not unlovable.
And soon, I'd make a choice.
Not because I was pressured.
Not because I was trying to catch up.
But because I was ready to feel something real.
Even if it only lasted for one night.