Maya is painting her nails a deep purple color when Riley looks up from the book she's absorbed in and her jaw drops dangerously low.
"I never noticed before…" she murmurs, her voice mystified. Riley moves closer to Maya, her eyes never leaving the other girl's hands. She picks up the hand that Maya's already finished, careful not to touch the not quite dry nails themselves, and holds it close to her face.
"Riles, what is it? This is weird, even for you," Maya murmurs gently, not unkindly but her voice slightly concerned nonetheless. Riley simply shakes her head, letting Maya take her hand back.
"It's always been you."
"Honey, is this some kind of joke? What're you talking about?" Riley can tell that Maya is hopelessly confused but suddenly she feels like she understands just about everything. Another piece of her universe has just popped into place.
"You're purple."
It makes all the sense in the world. Maya is shades of purple, a whole spectrum wide that Riley would spend years attempting to describe. She's the violet at the end of the rainbow, the inky color in the sky at the end of a long day, the lilacs growing in Central Park. But more importantly she's the color of the old bay window seat pillows, her old comforter, her favorite shirt, her purple cats.
Maya is irrevocably and incredibly connected to everything that she is and everything that she has ever wanted to become.
Maya is as much a part of her life as the color purple has always been. The purple will never fade, and neither will Maya. If she is certain of anything, it is this.
She feels a kiss pressed to the corner of her lips and somehow she knows Maya understands. Maya has always understood her, even at her craziest moments. She knows that this must especially make sense to Maya. As an artist, Maya has always seen the world in terms of colors. One day she'll ask Maya what color she associates with her. But for now she's content with her own small revelation.
Her favorite color is purple and her favorite person is Maya. It just makes sense.