Strings and Schemes

Chapter 28

I lose it. "Oh my God, it's a clown car."

Zayn glares at me. "Get in, traitor."

Within moments, I am full of regrets - Zayn is what he likes to call driving, and I like to call trying to kill us.

"Why did I not take out a life insurance policy before this trip?" I groan, getting nauseous looking at the cliff leading to the ocean.

"Oh shush, you're fine." He tuts "Plus, we're not driving that much longer." He winks at me.

As if that wink is going to make up for anything going on currently.

We arrive at the Athens port and board the ferry heading to Milos, a small island in the cyclades islands in greece. An island Zayn tells me, where people go to get lost and find themselves.

"I sense a theme with this trip.." I warn.

Zayn smiles, "I'd be lying if I said that wasn't part of it, but truly I just thought you'd appreciate Greece for all that it is and isn't. It reminds me of you."

I flush, "Do you think people will realize who you are here?"

He shakes his head, "the more normal I behave, the less likely I am to be noticed."

I fall asleep with his very professional disguise of a baseball cap, leaning into Z. Feeling completely and utterly in bliss at the thought of getting to enjoy one another without worries.

I blink awake, my body still groggy from sleep, the loud ferry horn echoing through the deck. The soft touch of Zayn's hand on my thigh steadies me, his thumb tracing idle circles against my skin.

"We're here," he murmurs, voice low and soothing.

I stretch, rubbing my eyes before glancing out at the island coming into view. Milos is even more breathtaking than I imagined. Whitewashed buildings with cobalt blue doors dot the rugged hills, the coastline fringed with moonlike rock formations and impossibly clear water. It looks untouched, like something out of a myth, a place where time slows and the world feels a little less heavy.

"Alright, Jaan," Zayn grins, standing up and stretching. "Ready to explore?"

"Do I have a choice?" I tease, bumping my shoulder against his as we grab our bags.

We disembark and make our way through the small port town of Adamas, where the narrow streets are lined with sleepy cafés, their outdoor tables shaded by olive trees. The air is thick with the scent of salt, sun-warmed stone, and freshly grilled seafood.

Our rental car is waiting for us—another tiny Fiat, this time in a much less offensive seafoam green. Zayn still glares at it as if it personally betrayed him.

"At least it's not yellow," I offer helpfully.

He shakes his head, mumbling something about "deserving a Ferrari."

The drive to our villa is short, winding up through the hills until we arrive at the secluded stone house perched above the sea. It's simple but stunning—white stucco walls, exposed wooden beams, and floor-to-ceiling windows that frame an uninterrupted view of the turquoise waters below.

The best part? The private infinity pool that looks like it spills directly into the Aegean.

I set my bags down and immediately step onto the terrace, inhaling the salty air.

"This is ridiculous," I whisper.

Zayn comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder.

"I thought you deserved ridiculous," he murmurs.

I sigh, melting into him. He has a way of making me believe I do.

We spend the afternoon settling in, the exhaustion from traveling slowly fading into excitement. The sun hangs low when we finally venture into Plaka, the picturesque hilltop village known for its whitewashed alleyways, historic charm, and impossibly good food.

We find a small taverna tucked into a quiet square, the tables set beneath a canopy of grapevines and twinkling fairy lights. The kind of place that doesn't need a menu because the owner just tells you what's fresh and what you should eat.

Zayn gestures to the chairs. "Shall we?"

I smirk. "You mean sit down like normal people? Instead of ordering at a drive-thru?"

He rolls his eyes but pulls out my chair for me, ever the gentleman.

The older Greek woman who runs the place appears almost immediately, beaming at us. "Ah! First time in Milos?"

Zayn nods. "First time in Greece, actually."

Her eyes light up. "Then you must eat properly. I bring you everything."

Before we can protest, plates start arriving in waves.

Grilled octopus, saganaki (fried cheese with honey), fresh Greek salad, lamb souvlaki, warm pita, and tzatziki.

Zayn picks up his wine glass, looking at me over the rim. "I have a confession."

I raise a brow, chewing on a piece of pita. "Go on."

"I've never had real Greek food before."

I nearly choke. "What do you mean real Greek food?"

"I mean, I've only had, like... takeaway gyros."

I stare at him in horror. "Zayn."

He grins, popping a piece of feta into his mouth. "What?"

"We are fixing this immediately." I stab my fork into a piece of grilled octopus, holding it out to him. "Eat this."

He eyes it warily. "That's a tentacle."

"Yes, and?"

He sighs dramatically before taking the bite, chewing slowly. Then his eyes widen.

"...Shit, that's good."

I laugh, victorious. "Welcome to real Greek food, Malik."

We spend the rest of the meal stuffed, tipsy, and completely at ease, the tension of reality melting into the warm night air. Zayn keeps stealing food off my plate, and I pretend to be annoyed, but the truth is—I love it. I love all of it.

As we leave the restaurant, I slip my hand into his, intertwining our fingers.

"Thank you," I say softly.

"For what?"

"For bringing me here. For everything."

He squeezes my hand, his smile small but genuine. "Anytime, Jaan."