✨ Zoya is trying to belong.

🌆 Akif already does.

And somewhere in between, they find each other

It wasn’t planned.

Zoya had stepped out just for some air — overwhelmed by the noise of the city, the ache in her chest, and memories she didn’t want to face.

She wandered into the small park near her apartment — a quiet place, tucked between buildings. There were trees, swings, an old slide, and a bench that looked like it had stories.

She thought she was alone.

Until she saw him.

Akif.

Sitting like he belonged there.

Because he did.

This was his city.

His streets.

His sky.

Zoya paused, unsure if she should turn away.

But he spotted her first.

Pulled down one earbud. “Are you following me?”

She scoffed. “Do you own this park too?”

He smirked and patted the bench beside him.

> “Might as well.”

She rolled her eyes — but sat.

---

The park was calm.

The sun was setting.

And for once… her heart wasn’t racing with anxiety.

They sat quietly for a while.

Then he spoke.

> “You don’t like Mumbai, do you?”

She blinked. “I never said that.”

> “You don’t have to. I see it.”

Zoya picked at the sleeve of her hoodie. “It’s not about Mumbai…”

She hesitated.

Then something inside her gave in.

She exhaled slowly.

> “I didn’t come here for college. Not really.”

Akif didn’t interrupt.

> “I ran away.”

He looked at her now. Gently. Not surprised — just listening.

> “From my house. From everything that made me feel like I didn’t exist.”

> “My parents never hit me. But they made me feel small. Weak. Like I had no voice.”

> “When I smiled, it was for them. When I cried, it was alone.”

She paused.

> “So one night… I left. I had nothing except Aarfa and this hope that maybe, just maybe, I could breathe again.”

She finally met his gaze.

> “I don’t belong here, Akif. I just... wanted somewhere to start over.”

---

He was silent for a moment.

Then he looked around — at the trees, the swings, the breeze.

> “This city isn’t easy,” he said. “But it teaches you to survive.”

She smiled faintly. “You sound like you own it.”

> “I kind of do,” he teased. “Born here. Raised here. Every corner has a memory.”

> “So what are you doing here, in this park?”

> “It’s my break spot,” he shrugged. “When I’m sick of pretending to be okay.”

Zoya raised an eyebrow. “You pretend?”

> “Every day,” he said softly.

---

Zoya was quiet again.

Then she whispered:

> “Do you ever wonder… what version of yourself you'd be, if things had been different?”

He nodded.

> “Yeah. But then I see you…

And I think — maybe the broken versions are the most real.”

Zoya blinked, heart thudding.

He added,

> “You didn’t come here for college.

I didn’t need to.

But somehow we ended up on the same bench.”

> “I think fate’s a little obsessed with us.”

---

She laughed, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

> “You’re not as cold as you act.”

He tilted his head.

> “And you’re not as quiet as you pretend to be.”

She looked at him.

> “I’m scared.”

> “Of what?”

> “Feeling too much… and not being able to control it.”

He leaned forwar

d just a little, voice a whisper:

> “Then don’t control it.”

> “Just feel.”

---

That evening, Zoya didn’t just breathe.

She healed.

Even if just a little.

---

To be continued...