When the Script Fails

Chapter 7: The Night That Pulled Us Closer

After everything that spilled between us outside—the anger, the confessions, the breaking—I felt wrung out. Exhausted. Raw.

And yet... lighter.

Baseer walked beside me toward the villa, our shoulders almost brushing, though neither of us reached out. The candles inside flickered through the fogged windows, casting soft golden shapes against the wood.

When we stepped inside, the warmth hit us immediately.

But nothing felt as warm as the way he looked at me.

Not hungry.
Not teasing.
Not flirtatious.

Just... present.

"You're cold," he murmured.

I shook my head. "I'm okay."

"You're shivering."

"No, I—"

Before I could finish, he reached out and gently wrapped his hoodie around my shoulders.

My breath hitched.
His scent clung to the fabric — warm, clean, entirely him.

I hated how much it affected me.
I hated how much he affected me.

And I hated how much part of me didn't want to hate it anymore.

I looked up at him.
"Why are you being so—"

"Careful?" he finished softly.

I nodded.

He exhaled, slow and unsteady.

"Because you break differently," he said. "And I don't want to be the reason you shatter."

My heart clenched so sharply it almost hurt.

"Baseer..."

But before I could say more — his expression shifted into something unreadable.

And then—

He stepped back.

Baseer's POV

Ya Allah.
She was going to ruin me.

Farhana, wrapped in my hoodie, standing there with her hair falling around her face and that damn white-and-blue dress brushing the floor...
I'd never seen anything so soft. So breakable. So impossible not to want.

Not want like I usually want women.
No.

This was the kind of want that lodged under the ribs.
The kind that kept me awake at night.
The kind that scared the hell out of me.

And the worst part?

She didn't even know what she was doing.

I was used to attention.
Used to being wanted.
Used to girls making it obvious—

Touching my arm.
Flirting.
Leaning in too close.

I never misread signals because they were always loud.
Clear.
Intentional.

But Farhana?

She didn't give signs.
She gave silence.

She didn't flirt.
She avoided.

She didn't chase.
She ran.

And somehow... that made me want her in a way nothing else ever had.

Her walls didn't push me away.
They pulled me in.

Every time she stepped back, every time she avoided my eyes, every time she pretended she didn't care—

It drove me insane.

And now, seeing her wrapped in my hoodie, looking at me like I'd said something too real?

I had to step back or I would've done something stupid. Something dangerous. Something we weren't ready for.

Like kiss her.

Or tell her everything.

Including the one truth I'd never said out loud:

I was falling.
Hard.

Farhana's POV

He stepped away so suddenly I felt the loss like a cold gust.

"I just need a minute," he murmured.

"Oh."
I swallowed.
"Okay."

I turned to the fireplace, lighting it with trembling hands. The flames caught quickly, casting dancing shadows along the walls.

I sat on the rug, hugging his hoodie tighter around me.

A moment later, I sensed him behind me.
Quiet. Still. Uncertain.

He lowered himself onto the floor beside me, leaving just enough space between us for our breaths to fill.

His voice was husky.
"Can I tell you something?"

My pulse skipped.
"Only if you want to."

He let out a rough, humorless laugh.

"Want has never been the problem."

I froze.

His hand rested on the floor between us, fingers curling slightly... then uncurling.

"I've never chased," he said softly. "Not once. I never had to."

I looked at him.
He wasn't bragging.
He was confessing.

"But you—"
His jaw clenched.
"You don't come closer. You pull away. And every time you do, I hate how much I feel it."

My chest tightened.

"I don't mean to push—"

"I know," he said.
"That's what makes it worse."

I turned toward the fire, too overwhelmed to breathe correctly.

Then, barely above a whisper:

"Baseer... why me?"

The quiet stretched.
Long. Heavy. Breaking.

When he finally answered, his voice was unsteady.

"Because you don't want anything from me," he said.
"And God, Farhana... nobody has ever wanted nothing from me."

Slowly, quietly—
his fingers brushed mine.

Tentative.
Barely there.

But enough to undo every wall I had left.

I exhaled shakily, leaning just slightly into his touch.
Not a full surrender.
Just... a beginning.

He looked at me then—really looked.

And for once, neither of us stepped back.