Epilogue

backstory 10. turkish sugar

"Hey, Zalia," Sorin whispered.

It was 1 AM, and the two were settled into each of their respective beds. The silver light of the night streamed into the dark and silent room, casting shadows over Sorin's face as Zalia's eyelids fluttered open. For some reason, she wasn't as angry about Sorin waking her up as she thought she'd be; in fact, she'd been having some trouble sleeping, probably since it was 3 PM in LA currently. She turned in bed, facing him as he was doing to her.

"What's up?" She whispered back.

He turned onto his back, sighing out dramatically. "I'm bored."

"I'm super jetlagged and hungry. Let's order room service," Zalia grinned, reaching out and grabbing the telephone from the nightstand. She pressed zero, bobbing her head to the dial tone before a voice picked up.

"Hello, room service."

"Hi. I'm very sorry for the late night call, but my roommate and I are jet lagged as hell and have only eaten airplane food the entire day. Can I order," Zalia paused, grabbing a menu from the nightstand and turning on the light, "a bottle of champagne and the Turkish dessert sample plate."

"Will that be all?"

"Yes. Thank you so much, and again, sorry."

"You're cute," Sorin commented as she hung up.

"Cute?" Zalia looked at him weirdly. "Shut up."

He chuckled, unphased by her late night aggressiveness. He threw his blankets back, standing up. "Let's go to the kitchen."

Sorin grabbed a plush blanket and threw it over Zalia's shoulders, while he himself hugged a pillow as they left the room. Zalia held back her laugh as they waddled down the stairs together in the dark.

"I forgot you were wearing a giraffe onesie. How many of those do you have?" Zalia asked, pulling the blanket closer around her against the chill of the air conditioner.

"You don't want to know," Sorin whispered solemnly, hugging the pillow tighter.

The room service arrived quickly, and soon, the two were in the kitchen leaning against the island, sharing champagne and desserts together in the dark with only the moonlight streaming through the window.

"I don't even know what this is, but it's so good," Sorin mumbled, his mouth full.

"It's the turkish sugar," Zalia responded, not even looking up from the plate.

"You're turkish sugar," Sorin winked at her.

Zalia choked on her baklava, laughing. "What?"

"I don't know. It's 1:30. Don't talk to me," Sorin muttered, stabbing the avya tatlısı with his fork.

"I could never," Zalia smiled. She didn't know what came over her to make her say that; maybe she was feeling bolder with the champagne in her system, maybe it was the thrill of being in a foreign country. But once Zalia said it, and once Sorin grinned back at her slowly with that damn heart-stopping smile, she immediately regretted it.

"Stop," Zalia instructed, holding her fork up. "Don't smile like that."

"Like what?" Sorin laughed, his smile growing even wider.

"That. It makes me have feelings and I don't like it," Zalia narrowed her eyes at him.

"How about this?" Sorin asked, taking a step towards her.

"Yes, of course," Zalia responded, nodding, not being able to think or talk straight because of all the nervousness curdling in her chest. "It's this sour thing in my stomach that feels like I have indigestion. Damn. I hate it but I love it."