I leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, a faint furrow in my brow as I watched Zoya unpack their bags with an unmistakable sense of purpose.

She placed a basket of cherry tomatoes on the counter, her movements quick but deliberate.

"Adi," she began, glancing at me over her shoulder, her voice tinged with urgency. "Listen to me... we need to do this."

I sighed.

"Zoya, we've already discussed this," I replied, I tried to keep mh voice calm but firm. "It’s not as simple as you think."

"I know ..but you know what's simpler for us?.... Landing naked in your bed..... We both know we cannot keep doing this..."

I took a step back, running a hand through my hair, my chest tightening with the weight of her words. “So that’s it, then? We get married, but we keep pretending like this—whatever this is—doesn’t exist?”

Zoya’s hands trembled as she folded them across her chest, her eyes darting anywhere but to me. “It’s better this way. Cleaner. We’ll have rules, and we’ll stick to them. No emotions, no complications.”

Her words were resolute, but her voice wavered, betraying the turmoil beneath her carefully constructed mask.

I wanted to argue, to tell her that we couldn’t just bury what we felt and pretend it wasn’t there, but I knew it wouldn’t change her mind—not now.

“So what are these rules?” I asked bitterly, my voice laced with sarcasm. “Do we draw up a contract? Set curfews? Define exactly how far apart we have to stand at all times?”

She flinched at my tone but quickly composed herself, lifting her chin defiantly.

“No personal interactions outside of public appearances. No touching unless it’s for show. And definitely no… no more nights together....”

As if....

Her voice cracked on the last part, and I saw the tears she was fighting to hold back.

It cut through my frustration like a knife.

Ridiculous.

Zoya,” I said, my tone softening despite the anger simmering in my chest. “Do you really think you can follow those rules? Do you think I can?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she didn’t answer.

Then, in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, she said, “We have to try.”

The room fell silent, the weight of her words settling between us. She was trying to build walls, to create distance, but all I could see was the pain it was causing her—and me.

“Fine,” I said finally, my voice rough. “We’ll do it your way. But don’t expect me to make this easy, Zoya. Because I won’t.”

I took a step closer, my gaze locking onto hers. “I’ll follow your rules. I’ll keep my distance. But I won’t pretend I don’t want you, Zoya. And I won’t let you forget that you want me too.”

Her breath hitched, her resolve cracking just slightly before she masked it again. “You’re... stubborn...,” she whispered, her voice trembling with frustration and something else—something raw and unspoken.

“And you’re lying to yourself,” I shot back, my voice soft but firm. “But go ahead. Set your rules. Build your walls. Just don’t expect me to stop wanting you, Zoya. Because I won’t.”

Her gaze was fixed on the darkness beyond the glass, but I knew she wasn’t really seeing it. She was lost in her thoughts, in the fortress she had built around herself, the walls she thought could keep me out. But what she didn’t realize was that I’d already breached those walls—long ago. I was inside them now, tangled in her chaos, and I wasn’t going anywhere.

"Zoe," I murmured, my voice low but steady, breaking the silence.

She didn’t turn around, but I saw the slight tension in her shoulders. A part of me wondered if she was trying to hide her emotions, or if she was simply too afraid to face what was between us.

"Don't...call me that..." she murmured but I'd pretend that I didn't hear her.

"I know what you're doing," I continued, taking a step closer. "You think if you push me far enough, I'll stop trying. That if you enforce enough rules, you’ll convince yourself this is just... temporary. But you and I both know that’s a lie."

She turned her head slightly, not enough to face me, but enough that I could see her profile, illuminated by the faint light.

Her lips parted as though she wanted to say something, but no words came. Instead, she shook her head, her hair falling softly around her face. "You don’t understand," she whispered.

She was here, just a few feet away, but it felt as if she were slipping through my fingers, her walls higher than ever. And yet, even as she built them brick by brick, I couldn’t ignore the truth that pulsed between us, undeniable and unrelenting.

No matter how many rules she enforced, no matter how tightly she clung to her independence, what we felt for each other had a way of cutting through all of it.

It was only a matter of time.

Cheeku wanted her with us, part of our messy, imperfect little world.

And me?
I’d never said it out loud to her—not fully—but I had always wanted her. From the moment I met her, Zoya had been a storm I couldn’t escape, a fire I didn’t want to put out.

And now, more than ever, I wanted to keep her.

Not just for Cheeku.

Not for convenience.

For me.

For us.

But none of those words escaped my lips. Instead, I pushed off the counter and grabbed my keys from the table.

“Let’s go. I’ll drop you home.”

She turned from the window, her expression unreadable, but she followed me without a word. As we walked to the car, the silence between us was heavy but familiar.

I opened the passenger door for her, and she slid in, her perfume lingering in the air—a maddening reminder of how much I wanted her close.

The drive to her house was quiet, the only sounds the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of leaves as the wind brushed against the car.

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. Her gaze was fixed outside, but I could see the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers tapped lightly against her thigh, betraying her restlessness.

As I pulled up in front of her house, I parked but didn’t switch off the engine.

She unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle when I spoke, my voice steady but laced with something deeper.

“Let’s get married tomorrow.”

She froze, her hand hovering over the handle. Slowly, she turned to look at me, her eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

I shrugged, playing it cool, even though my chest felt like it was on fire. “I want your estate.”

She blinked, caught between disbelief and amusement. “My estate? You sure?”

“Dead serious,” I replied, leaning back in my seat, my tone casual but my heart pounding. “Its prime real estate. Perfect for a guy like me.”

She stared at me for a long moment, her lips twitching as if she were trying to suppress a smile. And then, to my surprise, she leaned back and smirked. “Cool. Cool with me.”

I wasn’t sure what I expected her to say, but her response left me momentarily speechless.

She pushed open the car door and stepped out, throwing a glance over her shoulder as she walked to her gate.

“Goodnight, Adi,” she said, her voice light but her gaze lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

I watched her disappear into the house.

Her voice was light, casual—too casual.

Cool.

She’s cool with marrying me.

It shouldn’t feel the way it’s making me feel.

But it does.

I tried to match her ease, leaning one arm against the steering wheel as if her answer hadn’t just detonated something in my chest.

The silence stretched between us, charged and humming, as if daring me to say something more.

I didn’t, because what could I say?

That I wanted to marry her for reasons I couldn’t even admit to myself?

That this wasn’t some half-hearted proposition, not really?

She’s cool with marrying me.

As I drove away, the quiet hum of the car engine filled the space where her presence had been just moments ago. The road ahead blurred slightly, not from tears, but from the sheer weight of everything I wasn’t saying.

Cool. She’s cool with marrying me.

But that’s Zoya, isn’t it? Always giving just enough to keep me guessing, to make me wonder what’s really going on in that head of hers.

She said yes.

She’s okay with this.

So why does it feel like I’m the one who’s been cornered?

The city lights blurred past, but my thoughts stayed anchored to her. To the way her lips twitched, betraying the smile she was trying to hide.

To the faint flush on her cheeks, like she was affected by this, by me, even though she’d never admit it.

This wasn’t just a joke.
Not for me.

Maybe it started as one, a way to provoke her, to test the waters of whatever strange, magnetic pull exists between us.

But the moment the words left my mouth, I knew they were real.
Too real.

Marrying her.

Making her mine.

The thought settled somewhere deep, where logic and reason had no place. It wasn’t just about Cheeku wanting her around.

It wasn’t about practicality or convenience or estates.

It was about her.

The way she drives me insane and makes me whole in the same breath. The way she challenges me, sees through me, and still stays.

I want to keep her.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless.

I’ve always wanted her, haven’t I?

From the moment she walked into my life, everything else has felt dim in comparison.

But wanting her and keeping her are two very different things.

Because Zoya isn’t someone you can keep.

She’s wild, unpredictable, untamed in a way that makes her unforgettable. She’s fire and light and chaos, and maybe that’s why I can’t stay away.

As I pulled into my driveway, I killed the engine but didn’t move to get out. The silence of the night pressed around me, heavy and unrelenting, like the truth I couldn’t escape.

She said yes. She’s cool with marrying me.

But is she cool with what that really means?

Because I’m not.

Not entirely.

Not when I know that beneath all the teasing and the casual smiles, I want more. More than what she’s ready to give. More than what she thinks this is.

And one way or another, I’ll make her see it.

I’ll make her mine.

~~~

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