Strings and Schemes

Chapter 23

He hums to himself as he is cooking, my mind wandering to just how truly beautiful he is. He's not ruggedly handsome, he's a sculpture that I wish I could take credit for in my own gallery. And, truthfully, I'm not sure what I've done to deserve this.

As much as I do not want to wreck the bubble that the past day has been, I sigh, recognizing that we actually do need to talk about logistics.

"Do you think that everyone knows about us already because of our date at the London Eye?" I ask.

Zayn turns back to look at me, the roti bubbling on the pan.

"No," he starts, "but only because it was so long ago in the media cycle, and we haven't been pictured together since; so the rumours would dispel by now."

I nod, taking in his answer.

"Does it worry you, Jaan?" He asks concerned.

I shake my head no. Then I stop.

"Actually, kind of."

He props himself up on one elbow, watching me carefully across the counter. "How do you wanna handle it?"

"I don't know," I admit. "I mean, I'm just now figuring out my life. I just got my own place. I just broke out of everything I thought I was supposed to be. The last thing I need is the world weighing in on my relationship."

Zayn nods, understanding. He reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together. "You don't have to explain yourself to me, I get it."

I squeeze his fingers. "I want to be with you. That's not even a question. But I also don't want to live my life constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for cameras to catch us."

His lips press into a thin line, like he's been waiting for this conversation. "I won't lie to you—if we go public, that's exactly what'll happen. And once it starts, it won't stop."

I swallow hard, nodding.

"But," he continues, tilting his head, "if you wanna keep things quiet, there are ways."

I blink at him. "What do you mean?"

He smirks, rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand. "I've done this before, Raina. There's a system. You never arrive anywhere together. You take separate cars. You never leave at the same time. If we go out, we stick to places with private rooms or spots that don't allow photography."

I raise a brow. "You have a playbook for this?"

"Not a playbook," he corrects, lips twitching, "just experience. You avoid places where paps camp out—no Chiltern Firehouse, no Annabel's, no high-profile restaurants. You don't post anything about each other online. You don't react when someone tries to bait you about the relationship."

I absorb his words. I know he's speaking from experience, but it feels clinical, distant, like we'd be making blueprints for something that's supposed to feel natural. It feels oddly like the life I just walked away from.

A part of me feels jealous, at the fact that he's done this before. That he's had to skirt the system before. How many other people did he do this with? I try to shake the idea out of my head, but I can't squash it the way I'd like to.

"This sounds exactly like what I just walked away from," I sigh, "I know how exhausting it can get.." I trail off.

Zayn's smirk falters slightly. "It does. But if you want privacy, it's the trade-off."

I purse my lips. "And what do you want?"

His expression softens. "I want you, however you want to do this."

I exhale, thinking. "So if we do this quietly, we don't go out in public together? We don't do normal couple things?"

"We do," he reassures me. "We just do them differently. We have house parties instead of going out to clubs. We take trips to places where no one expects us to be. We spend time with people who respect our privacy."

I let that sink in. "And if we do go public?"

His gaze darkens slightly. "Then there's no turning back. They'll talk about you. About us. About your past, my past. Everything. You'd have to be ready for that."

I bite the inside of my cheek. I don't know if I'll ever be ready for that.

"I need time," I admit finally. "To figure out what I want."

Zayn nods, lifting our joined hands to kiss the inside of my wrist. "Then take it. We don't have to decide everything today."

I smile, pressing my forehead against his. "You're too good to me."

He chuckles. "I just know what it's like to lose control of your own story. And I don't want that for you anymore."

I sigh, letting the reality of this settle between us. "So what's the plan for now?"

Zayn grins again. "For now? We eat this Andha Burjhi I made us from scratch."

Before I can register what is happening, he places a bite of the food in my mouth with his own hand, I'm taken aback by the intimacy of being fed by someone. I know it's culturally common in Pakistani culture, but I've never had someone do it before. I feel like I'm melting before him; he notices the look.

"Sorry," his northern accent shining through, "Did I cross a line?"

I shake my head chewing and swallowing the food, the flavours exploding in my mouth. Who knew something so simple could be so good?

"No ones ever fed me food before." I admit sheepishly. He smiles warmly at me.

"I'm glad I can be the first to do so."