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A-one, two, three, four…
The apartment is a mess. Not a bad mess—just the kind that happens when three girls share a space and love each other too much to care about organization. Jackets draped over chairs. A half-finished mug of tea by the window. A blanket fort Rumi swore wasn’t hers (it was).
Mira hums as she pads across the floor in fuzzy socks, brushing her hair out of her eyes. The early light hits just right, spilling soft gold over everything, and she feels that little burst in her chest again—the one that always shows up when she looks at them.
Zoey’s curled on the couch, hood pulled up, one arm dangling off the side. She’s snoring softly, a sleepy pout on her lips. Rumi’s on the floor beside her, head resting against Zoey’s leg, still half-dressed from training the night before.
Mira leans on the doorframe and watches them like she’s afraid to blink and lose the picture.
“God,” she whispers, smiling. “You two are ridiculous.”
She means: I love you both so much it’s stupid.
Everything you do, it sends me
Higher than the moon with every
Twinkle in your eye…
Mira’s humming the song under her breath as she cooks breakfast—something bright and soft and annoyingly catchy. She doesn’t even remember where she first heard it, but it stuck, the way things do when they fit too well.
She flips the pancakes, hums louder. The lyrics slip out before she can stop them.
“You strike a match that lights my heart on fire—”
Rumi stirs from the couch, voice muffled in Zoey’s hoodie. “You’re singing again.”
“Correction,” Mira says. “I’m serenading my girls.”
Zoey lifts her head, hair a complete disaster. “At—what—seven in the morning?”
“Love doesn’t sleep in,” Mira says cheerfully.
Zoey groans into a pillow. Rumi throws one at Mira’s head. Mira catches it with a grin and throws it right back.
The kitchen fills with laughter. Pancakes start to burn. No one really cares. Well maybe Zoey.
When you’re near, I hide my blushing face
And trip on my shoelaces…
Later, Mira’s trying to get dressed. Keyword: trying.
Rumi keeps leaning over to kiss her shoulder every time she passes by, and Zoey keeps filming it with the kind of smug grin that makes Mira’s knees go weak and her brain stop working entirely.
“Stop,” Mira says, cheeks pink. “You’re gonna make me mess up my eyeliner.”
Rumi smirks. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Zoey snorts. “You love the chaos.”
“I love you,” Mira corrects instantly—and then realizes what she said, the words too soft, too honest.
The room goes quiet.
Zoey’s lips twitch. “You’re cute when you get all lovergirl.”
Mira covers her face. “Don’t call me that.”
“Lovergirl,” Rumi teases, leaning in again. “Our little Mira in love.”
Mira groans. “You’re impossible.”
But she’s smiling too wide to mean it.
Hello, how are you, my darling, today?
I fall into a pile on the floor…
They go out later. A rare free afternoon. Rumi insists on a walk by the river; Zoey insists on bringing snacks. Mira just trails behind them, smiling, her camera slung around her neck.
Zoey keeps stopping to take photos of ducks, Rumi keeps pretending not to care and then points out a prettier one just to one-up her. Mira keeps catching the light hitting them both. The world can’t help but love them too.
When Rumi glances back, Mira’s caught staring.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Mira says, trying to play it off. “Just—you’re cute.”
Zoey snorts. “She’s serious about it too.”
Rumi leans in close, whispering, “You’re worse than I thought.”
“Yeah,” Mira admits. “I’m completely gone.”
Finding words, I mutter
Tongue-tied, twisted
Foot in mouth, I start to stutter…
By the time they get home, the sun’s setting and the apartment’s warm again. The three of them pile on the couch with leftovers and some cheesy romance movie that Zoey claims she hates but keeps laughing at anyway.
Rumi drapes a blanket over all of them, pretending she isn’t being soft about it. Mira tucks her feet under Zoey’s leg, her head against Rumi’s shoulder.
She doesn’t even realize she’s humming again until Zoey nudges her.
“That song again?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s it about?” Rumi asks.
Mira smiles, small and a little shy. “About being really, really in love. Like… you look at someone and everything they do just—makes you feel lucky you get to see it.”
Zoey looks at her for a long second before leaning in and kissing her cheek. “You’re sappy.”
“Shut up.”
“You are,” Rumi adds. “Our sappy, sentimental little Mira.”
Mira huffs but doesn’t argue. Instead she presses herself closer, feeling the warmth of both of them at once. Their breathing evens out. The TV flickers low light across their faces.
Puppy love is hard to ignore
When every little thing you do, I do adore…
The last thing Mira sees before sleep pulls her under is Rumi’s arm thrown across Zoey’s waist, their hands intertwined. She reaches out, threads her fingers through theirs, and thinks about how easy it feels.
Not perfect. Not polished. Just them.
And Mira thinks—if this is what forever feels like, she’d never ask for anything else.
Just this.
This messy, sleepy, perfect little world.
Every little thing they do.
Every little thing she adores.