Gaila sees the woman from across the quad. Her skin is brown, the same hue as Nyota’s but a shade darker, and in the sun she gleams like a lishak plant.
The woman’s self-assured strut marks her as an upperclassman, but she looks older than the others. Gaila can tell she has stories.
Happy for the short-sleeved summer uniform, Gaila admires the woman’s curves forged from muscle, her powerful arms and strong thighs that would look really delicious wrapped around someone.
Gaila aches to bury her fingers in the woman’s short, tight curls. Nyota taught her that's something you ask permission for on Earth – humans don’t see random touching as a compliment unless you’re mates, or something.
So Gaila bounces up to the woman, hips swinging, and introduces herself.
The woman’s sharp, full facial features shift into a smile. She thrusts out her hand. “Cadet Aisha Darwin.”
Months later, when Aisha shaves her head, Gaila doesn’t miss those curls one bit, just buries her face between Aisha’s big thighs and licks, and laughs.