under the covers [hs au]

chapter fifty-five.

Every little trait about Zafri, even his flaws, Samira adored. It truly felt like they knew each other for twenty years, despite it feeling like seconds. No steps in this relationship were skipped but instead touched upon in a heartbeat. Zafri got under her skin without even touching her. He knew her shortcomings, what she hated about herself, and why she was the way she was. Samira didn't know if she'd consider Zafri lucky or herself lucky.

What the fuck? Was this even real?

But . . . there was one thing, one little piece left of the puzzle. Maybe it would fit, perhaps it wouldn't. Samira had yet to figure out what that was.

Omma made kottu roti for lunch today, and Samira went to therapy with a full belly. Her hair that now fell over her chest was in a loose braid. She wore a pair of mom jeans and an oversized crewneck, along with clean white sneakers Omma found on clearance—as much as Samira made fun of her mother for buying everything on clearance, they were nice shoes, so why not.

Samira kept the little lamb on her lap, resting on the comfy couch at therapy.

"Are you talking to that same guy? What's his name again?" Dr. Ayub asked with a smile, taking a seat on the big chair across from Samira.

"Zafri?" Samira scratched her head, looking down at her lap.

"You're blushing. You're still with him, aren't you?" Dr. Ayub took a note on her clipboard. "Has there been any issues with him? Similar to your boy back in England?"

With that, the rainbow over her head started to fade.

"I think of him sometimes, but like . . . subconsciously?" Samira admitted. "But not as much as I used to. I've really . . . healed. I'm just glad I came to therapy and worked on myself and got through everything with my dad before getting used to the idea of liking Zafri."

"Do you want to marry him, Samira?"

Dr. Ayub narrowed her eyes, leaning close. Samira cleared her throat, tightening her shoulders.

"I don't know. That's what I'm trying to figure out. Zafri made me realize that I don't like being alone. That might've been why I stayed with Harry because leaving him still hurt me. And things feel too good to be true with Zafri. All men have done is disappoint me."

Nodding, Dr. Ayub folded her hands together: "You've always had trouble trusting men, you know. Your father, brother, other boyfriends. Harry made that void so much bigger; you met him to realize what you deserve and all your flaws."

Swallowing, Samira nodded: "Then . . . how do I know Zafri isn't going to hurt me and I'm not going to hurt him?"

"Peace is never guaranteed, Samira. The hurt can fluctuate. You have to work through it," Dr. Ayub answered. "But if Harry and Zafri were standing in front of you, who would you run to?"

Insane. Samira still couldn't believe that two men, at the same time, wanted her hand. But why?

Chest rising, Samira comprehended the question. Not a single reminder of Harry surrounded her. Just his face, voice, and memories that prevailed hazily like fog on a window. There was both hurt and comfort. The way Harry loved Samira couldn't be blamed, but even if there was a ring burning in his pocket for months, she owed him nothing. She didn't.

"I don't know."

Dr. Ayub set her clipboard down, straightening her long tunic.

"Did you give your all with Harry?"

Her breath hitched; Samira gulped a thick fragment of air, feeling her heart race.

"I like to think that I did, but." She bit the inside of her cheek. "I held back on so much."