Strings and Schemes

Chapter 22

"Us."

It's not grand or oversized, not meant for galleries or the world to admire. It's just ours. Two figures, abstract in form, sculpted from dark clay. Not perfect, not seamless—but whole. The figures aren't locked together, aren't entangled in some dramatic display of passion.

Instead, they're just leaning into each other. Holding steady. Standing side by side.

Zayn exhales sharply, his thumb brushing over the surface of the sculpture, tracing the places where the two figures meet. Where they almost break apart, but don't.

He doesn't speak right away. Just stares at it, taking in the meaning, the weight of it.

I bite my lip, suddenly nervous. "I—" His hand reaches for mine.

My breath stutters.

"You see us like this?" His voice is quiet, reverent.

I nod. "I do. I always did."

Zayn doesn't say anything else. He just sets the sculpture down carefully on the nightstand, then pulls me into him, kissing me like he understands every word I haven't spoken yet.

Maybe he does. Maybe, for the first time, we both do.

Zayn sets the sculpture down carefully on the nightstand, his fingers lingering on the figures before he turns back to me. His expression is unreadable, eyes searching mine like he's looking for the right words but doesn't quite need them.

A moment passes. Then another. And then, he exhales a quiet laugh.

I furrow my brows. "What?"

He shakes his head, smiling as he glances back at the sculpture. "Nothing. Just - " His thumb brushes his bottom lip, still smirking. "You're really out here making me sentimental, huh?"

I roll my eyes, nudging his shoulder. "Please, you were sentimental before I met you. You just hide it behind tattoos and brooding."

Zayn chuckles, low and warm, before leaning in and kissing me like he has all the time in the world. It's slow, unhurried, not the desperate kind we used to have - the kind that felt like holding on before something slipped through our fingers. This is different.

This is the having.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against mine, his breath steady against my lips. "Where should I put it?"

I blink at him. "What?"

He gestures toward the sculpture, still sitting untouched on the nightstand. "I mean, what's the proper placement for a piece called 'Us'? Is this a 'centre of the house' kind of thing, or more of a 'private, out-of-sight' situation?"

I pretend to think, tapping my chin. "Well, the bathroom would be a bold choice."

Zayn laughs, a full-bodied, real laugh, the kind I haven't heard in what feels like forever. He tugs me into his side, shaking his head. "Don't disrespect my new prized possession."

I grin, feeling lighter than I have in weeks. "You really like it?"

He turns me so I'm facing him completely, tilting my chin up so I have to see the way he's looking at me. "Raina." His voice is soft, but steady. "I love it."

I swallow, my chest tightening—not with panic, but with something quieter, deeper. I let my fingers trace his wrist, feeling the steady pulse beneath my touch.

"I wanted you to have something that wasn't - " I pause, searching for the words. "That wasn't for anyone but you. Not a statement, not a message. Just... ours."

Zayn watches me for a long moment, then nods, like he understands exactly what I mean.

"It's ours," he agrees, voice dipping low.

I exhale, feeling something settle inside me, something I've been carrying for too long.

"Are we gonna be okay?" I ask, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Zayn doesn't hesitate. "Yeah." His thumb brushes my cheek, his lips ghosting against my forehead. "We already are."

We lie back against the pillows, the warmth of his body pressed into mine, the air between us full of unspoken things that don't need to be said yet.

Zayn hums softly, fingers tracing lazy circles on my hip. "So, do I get first pick of your next sculpture? Since I'm clearly your muse now?"

I snort, rolling over so I'm half on top of him. "You're unbearable."

"Admit it," he murmurs, smirking.

I groan, burying my face in his chest. "Why did I ever think this was a good idea?"

He chuckles, lips pressing against the crown of my head. "Because it is."

I freeze for half a second—not because I don't believe him, but because it's so simple when he says it.

I shift, meeting his gaze. "You think so?"

Zayn's expression flickers, something raw flashing across his features before it softens into something else—something steady. His fingers tighten at my waist, grounding me. "Yeah." His voice is quiet, but certain. "I do."

I exhale, feeling something settle inside me, something I've been carrying for too long. I don't need to say anything back. Not yet. Maybe not for a while. But he holds me closer, like he already knows.

And just like that, the world settles.