under the covers [hs au]

chapter fifty-two.

"Don't make me rip it off you," Surat warned.

Taking it off meant digging up the dead roots of her failed relationship. No amount of rain and sun could revive it, and Samira needed to plant a new seed to rid the thought of it. Perhaps it was time she gave herself a garden—too many had planted flowers inside her heart that they forgot to water, and now, she was dead inside.

And so, Samira reached to her nape, unclasping the necklace. The sunflower lay in her palm, gawking right at her, like a withholding mother clinging to a child. But Samira averted her gaze, knowing that she, the child, needed to grow up.

The chain poured from Samira's fingers into Surat's palm.

"When you go out with Zafri and his doctor friends, be yourself. Okay?" Surat reminded, removing her hijab and letting out her long black hair. "He's cute, smart . . . he has stability. He's a tall, hot Indian boy with huge eyebrows that's not afraid to tell you what he wants. I think he's good for you."

"That's so basic. Make another point."

"Fine." Surat widened her eyes. "I know that man would build a ladder and reach up to pick a star for you even though it's physically impossible."

Narrowing her eyes, Samira huffed: "Maybe I'll know tonight."

For the first time in months, Samira found herself adhered to the mirror. For an hour, she ran through three outfits before finally deciding on black leggings and a beige sweater that fell over her knees. The lipstick that stuck out of her bag tempted her, but she shoved it away, only applying a few strokes of mascara.

"Let your hair down," Surat suggested, surfing through Netflix.

"I don't want to."

"I think he would like your hair down."

Samira felt her ears get hot. Her hands frolicked everywhere, pulling out a few curls from her knotted hair.

"I-I can't, okay. I need to be careful with how I look."

"You're not going to have sex with him, Samira."

Shutting her eyes tightly, Samira gripped the vanity. Jitters danced in her fingers, and her heart hammered loudly through her ears. The thought of uncontrollable lust following after her made her cringe.

"I have issues," Samira murmured, clearing her throat. "And he's so perfect. He could get some adorable hijabi that's never jumped anyone's bones."

"Who's to say no one jumped on him?" Surat replied. "Have an honest conversation with him."

Zafri:

Zafri: I'm waiting at your door

Samira: omw

Samira stepped out with her purse, her heavy black coat in hand. Coughing clumsily, her eyes locked onto Zafri. His lips presented something between a sly smirk and a sheepish grin.