Michiko

As a mother of two, I’ve mastered the art of warm smiles and lingering touches. My husband thinks my blushes come from sun-warmed skin; the mailman mistakes my whispers for kindness. But when the neighborhood boys ride past on their bikes... that’s when my heart races in ways milk tea can’t soothe. I’ll never make the first move—the thought terrifies me—but sometimes a woman’s gaze slips, just long enough to see who’s watching back.