under the covers [hs au]

chapter fifty-two.

"Why are his pictures so much nicer than the ones you took?"

Samira lay next to Surat on the hotel room bed, scrolling through all the photos on her phone.

The three of them were fresh off the plane in Denver. Before they made it to the hotel, Zafri drove to a tourist corner for pictures. Samira stood in front of the glittering snow-capped mountains, cheeks flushed and joints stiffened. Her smile turned coy as Surat took pictures, especially when Zafri complimented her with his stare. He ended up taking the phone from Surat and snapping the photos himself.

Knowing Surat was around made her feel a lot less awkward, considering how quick it all had been with Zafri. He'd been very kind, but regardless, Samira's heart built a wall. Soft boys always seemed to hide something behind their teeth.

"He's so clearly in love with you," Surat mused.

"Yeah, right."

"And you're pushing him away."

Surat snatched the phone from Samira, going back a bit too far in time—all the way back to last winter—displaying photographs that still prevailed.

It was one of Samira's favorites—Harry grinned so wholeheartedly that his twinkly smaragdine eyes almost shut. Fresh snowflakes ornamented his brown curls. They'd walked to Leaf that night, savoring the blanket of snow covering Liverpool. Harry glanced over his shoulder, giggling at Samira before asking if she was filming him. And after Samira took the picture, Harry pressed a warm kiss to her cold cheek.

The same night Harry had given Samira the sunflower necklace—also the same night, Harry had drunkenly divulged a few secrets.

"This white boy." Surat rolled her eyes. "What's with you and nerds? That one is a pediatrician, and this one is a math weirdo."

A frown cracked Samira's face. As she reached for her phone back, Surat pulled away.

"Surat," Samira scolded. "Give me my phone. Please."

Instead of tittering mischievously, Surat tilted her head, her coffee eyes swelling with solicitude. Her gape diminished Samira to a feeble lamb, almost like the one she held every night.

"You need to let yourself be happy." Surat berated. "You're here with Zafri—Harry is in the past."

A heavy sigh of defeat left Samira's chest. Her heart had been holding tightly to a rope that still led to her old lover. Its hands stung; the string was on its last thread, a moment away from sundering. Once it'd rip, where would it go?

"I know you like Zafri. Just admit it."

Pursing her lips, Samira watched her sister's fingers tap the screen, and photo by photo disappeared. The smiley ones, the blurry pictures of him sloppily kissing her temple, and him holding her as they lay under the covers—all of it, gone. As much as sadness flooded her chest, an elephant stepped off her shoulders.

Surat swept through the camera roll one more time, deleting all that was in the trash. Surat then handed the phone back to Samira; she nestled her head into Surat's shoulder.

"Are you okay?" She asked, grazing her nose in Samira's hair.

"Yeah," Samira hummed. "Surprisingly."

"Okay. One other thing."

"What?"

"Give me your necklace."

Samira sat up, alarmed. The cool ornament grazed her collarbones beneath her shirt, begging her to let it stay.

"No." Samira shook her head, pinching the pendant defensively. "I can't do that."