Home.The word surfaces in my mind unbidden, carrying weight in six different languages. But none of them capture what I feel when I look at her.
The envelope sits on my kitchen counter where I left it last night. A thick manila paper containing my visa appeal, Maya's character witness letter tucked inside like a talisman. Her words, written in her careful handwriting, vouching for my contributions to the community. To her life.
"Ursak Irontongue represents the best of what integration can achieve,"she'd written."He has enriched our neighborhood, our building, and my life in ways I never expected. Losing him would diminish us all."
I'd read it seventeen times before sealing the envelope.
Maya stirs again, this time her eyes fluttering open. She finds me immediately, that sleepy smile spreading across her face like sunrise.
"Morning," she murmurs.
"Keth'mor dalak," I reply, then translate: "Good morning, beautiful one."
She stretches, unselfconscious in her nakedness, and I have to look away before I abandon all my carefully laid plans for the day. The appeal needs to reach the immigration office before noon.
"Coffee?" I ask, already moving toward the kitchen.
"Always."
I brew her coffee the way she likes it—strong enough to wake the dead, with just a hint of cinnamon. For myself, I prepare tea, the grass-scented blend that reminds me of home. Of the home I left behind, not the one I'm building here.
She appears in the doorway wrapped in my oversized shirt, hair a beautiful disaster. The sight of her wearing my clothes does something primal to my chest.
"The appeal?" she asks, noticing the envelope.
"Ready." I hand her the coffee, our fingers brushing. Such a small touch, but it steadies me. "Your letter...gratath mor.Thank you. It means everything."
She takes a sip, studying my face over the rim. "What time is the deadline?"
"Noon. I want to hand-deliver it."
"I'm coming with you."
"Maya—"
"Try to stop me." Her tone brooks no argument, but her eyes are soft. "We're in this together, remember?"
Together.Another word that carries new weight, new meaning. I lean down to kiss her forehead, breathing in the scent of her shampoo mixed with last night's passion.
"Thirty minutes," I say. "Then we go."
She nods and disappears into my bathroom. I hear the shower start, steam beginning to fog the mirror. For a moment, I consider joining her, but the envelope on the counter keeps me focused.
Discipline,I remind myself.Structure.
But even as I think it, I know those old mantras don't fit anymore. Not with Maya in my life, bringing her beautiful chaos to my ordered world.
I dress carefully in my best button-down shirt, the navy blazer that makes my shoulders look less imposing. First impressions matter, especially when you're an orc trying to convince humans you belong in their world.
Maya emerges twenty minutes later, hair still damp, wearing jeans and a sweater that brings out the gold flecks in her eyes. She's beautiful and fierce and mine, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
The immigration office squats downtown like a concrete fortress, all harsh angles and intimidating glass. Maya's hand finds mine as we approach, her fingers threading through mine without hesitation.
"You've got this," she says quietly.
The clerk behind the bulletproof glass barely looks up when I slide the envelope through the slot. No acknowledgment of the hope and fear I've poured into those pages. Just a stamp, a receipt, and a bored "Next."
Outside, Maya squeezes my hand. "Now we wait."
