Strings and Schemes

Chapter 23

The words land heavy in my chest. He doesn't say it cruelly, or even impatiently. He says it like someone who already knows what I'm going to do.

Because I am avoiding it.

Zayn brushes his fingers over my knuckles, grounding me. "I don't care, you know. About the press. About people knowing."

I exhale slowly. "I know you don't."

His eyes search mine. "But you do."

I hesitate, staring at where his hand rests over mine. I do. I really do.

Because this—us—this is mine. For once in my life, something is just for me, untouched by public scrutiny, political whispers, or my family's expectations.

And I'm not ready to let the world pick it apart.

"I'm still figuring it all out," I admit. "I've spent my whole life being seen in a way I couldn't control. I just—" I bite my lip, trying to piece together the words. "I don't want to give them a say in this. Not yet."

"I know that being with you publicly isn't just about our relationship, it's about what it says for me politically. My family politically." I continue, "if we are publicly together, it's a protection from their behaviour. But it also puts your in the line of fire that I barely got out alive from."

Zayn nods, like he understands, but I can see the flicker of something restrained in his expression. He presses his lips together before speaking.

"So... you want me to pretend I'm not completely obsessed with you?" His tone is teasing, but his eyes are serious.

I smile softly, threading my fingers through his. "I certainly hope not. But, I want us to just be us, before we're everyone else's."

He studies me for a beat before nodding, bringing my hand to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to my knuckles.

"I can do that," he murmurs.

Relief floods through me. I didn't realize how much I needed to hear him say that until now.

I squeeze his hand in thanks, letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "So you'll keep your ridiculous, lovesick staring to a minimum in public?"

Zayn scoffs, rolling onto his back. "No promises, Jaan."

I laugh, shifting so I can rest my head on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. His arm tightens around me, and for a moment, we just exist.

Quiet. Unrushed. Mine. Ours.

"Just so we're clear," Zayn murmurs after a while, his voice still thick with sleep, "I am coming to your graduation."

I smirk against his skin. "I know."

"And I am going to stare at you like you put the stars in the sky."

I groan, slapping a hand over his chest, making him laugh. "Zayn."

"What?" he says innocently, eyes twinkling. "That's not up for debate."

I roll my eyes but secretly, I relish it. The quietness, the existing in each others' orbits, the banter I've been craving.

We move in sync towards the kitchen. Zayn opening up my fridge and grabbing ingredients to make up breakfast. I don't ask questions, I am just delighted to have a Jaan in my life. I see him take out flour, eggs, oil, onions and some spices.

My curiosity gets the better of me eventually, "What are you making?"

"A surprise," he grins at me, whisking the eggs together before adding his chopped veggies and putting it back in the fridge before washing his hands and bringing a pan to temperature and placing rolled dough that I recognize as roti.