The auditorium was still buzzing.

Students clicked selfies. Lights flashed. Someone popped a soda bottle backstage and screamed.

But Zoya?

She was frozen.

Still in her costume.

Still breathless.

Still trying to understand what just happened.

> She had danced. On stage.

With Akif.

In front of hundreds.

But what lingered the most wasn’t the performance.

It was the way he had looked at her during it — like nothing else existed.

---

She sat on a bench outside the hall, costume bag by her side, fixing her sandals.

> “You don’t like crowds?” a voice asked.

Zoya looked up.

Akif.

Now back in his usual clothes. Still as unreadable as ever.

> “No,” she admitted. “I like peace.”

> “Same.”

Silence.

Then he said,

> “You danced well.”

Zoya blinked. “You don’t compliment people.”

> “You’re not people.”

She looked at him, unsure whether to smile or panic.

> “You confuse me,” she muttered.

He looked away, his voice softer this time.

> “You confuse me too.”

---

Across the courtyard, Ayaan ran up to Aarfa.

> “You… were… fire.”

Aarfa tried to hide her blush. “You looked like a lost backup dancer.”

> “Yeah, but I was your lost backup dancer.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

> “You still like me, though.”

She didn’t reply.

But she didn’t walk away either.

---

Later that night, most students left in groups.

Zoya stood outside the gate, trying to book an auto — phone glitching, balance low.

Suddenly, a black car rolled up.

Window down.

Akif. Again.

> “Get in. It’s late.”

Zoya hesitated.

> “You’re not tired of driving me around?”

> “I could be tired of a lot worse things.”

She got in.

---

The drive was quiet.

But not awkward.

Just… warm.

She glanced at him. The shadows from the streetlights danced across his face.

> “Why do you do all this?” she asked suddenly.

> “What?”

> “Help me. Drive me. Watch me. Talk to me. Like… why me?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, eyes still on the road, he said:

> “Because you don’t try to impress anyone.”

“Because when you smile, it looks like you’re healing.”

“Because when I’m around you… I forget I’m supposed to be cold.”

Zoya stared.

> What was that supposed to mean?

Was this a confession? A half-truth? A distraction?

But before she could ask… they reached her building.

> “Goodnight,” he said, still not looking at her.

> “Night,” she whispered, stepping out.

He waited until she was safely inside the gate.

And then, he drove off.

---

Upstairs, Aarfa was waiting — feet up on the bed, in her PJs, scrolling memes.

Zoya walked in like she had just come from another planet.

> “Aarfa,” she whispered.

> “Hmm?”

> “I think I’m in trou

ble.”

Aarfa looked up. “Did you kill someone?”

> “No…”

> “Then?”

> “I think I’m falling for him.”

Aarfa smirked. “Sweetheart, we all saw that weeks ago.”

---

To be continued...