“Sanya’s birthday is at the newest club in the city,” Aarfa announced, tossing her hair. “And you, my dear Zoya, are coming.”

“Nope,” Zoya replied instantly. “Not my vibe. I don’t do clubs. Too loud. Too dark. Too sweaty.”

Ayaan smirked. “Tell her, Akif. You hate clubs too.”

Akif leaned back on the bench, arms crossed. “More than anything.”

“Perfect,” Aarfa grinned. “Then you two can hate it together. Now both of you — get dressed. We’re going.”

Zoya sighed. “I’m wearing sneakers.”

“You’re wearing heels,” Aarfa declared.

---

The club was chaos.

Flashing lights, pounding beats, people laughing, drinking, dancing like their souls were leaving their bodies.

Zoya stood frozen at the entrance, looking like a deer caught in a neon headlight. She tugged her jacket tighter over her short black dress, which Aarfa had picked, of course.

“I already regret this,” she muttered.

Akif appeared beside her.

He looked— okay, no, he looked hot. Black shirt. Rolled sleeves. Hair swept back. Jaw tight.

“We leave in one hour,” he said flatly.

“One hour feels like five years,” she whispered.

They shared a look.

Trapped. Suffering. Together.

---

An hour later, Zoya was sitting in the corner booth, sipping plain soda and pretending the music didn’t sound like a spaceship crashing. Akif was right beside her, eyes scanning the dance floor with deep-rooted irritation.

“You having fun?” she asked sarcastically.

He looked at her. “I’ve had more fun at the dentist.”

Zoya snorted.

Suddenly, Aarfa dragged her onto the dance floor. “Just one dance!” she begged.

Zoya sighed and went — laughing, swaying, trying not to fall over in her stupid heels.

Akif watched. Silently.

And maybe smiled a little.

---

By the time they were leaving, Zoya was limping.

“Damn heels,” she muttered, holding onto the stair rail. “Worst idea ever.”

“I told you,” Akif said.

“I know,” she groaned. “Can we call a cab?”

“We’re just a short walk away. The road’s empty.”

She nodded and took two steps—

Then winced, grabbing her ankle.

“Zoya?”

“I’m fine. Just— ugh— blisters. Great.”

Before she could even argue, Akif scooped her up in his arms like she weighed nothing.

Her breath hitched. “What are you—?!”

“Walking,” he said calmly, like this was just another Tuesday.

“You’re carrying me.”

“I noticed.”

Her arms flew around his neck instinctively. His scent — faint cologne and warmth — was dangerously distracting.

“People are staring,” she mumbled.

“I don’t care.”

“You’re going to get back pain.”

He looked down, smirking. “You think you’re that heavy?”

She slapped his shoulder lightly.

But she didn’t ask him to put her down.

Not even once.

---

He didn’t stop until they were standing outside her apartment.

“Thanks,” she whispered as he slowly let her down.

His arms lingered a second longer than they needed to.

“I hate clubs,” she said.

“Same.”

“But tonight… wasn’t so bad.”

He looked at her. “Yeah. Wasn’t so bad.”

---

Later that night, she lay in bed scrolling through her phone.

A message popped up.

> Akif: “Wear sneakers next time.”

> Zoya: “You mean if there’s a next time?”

> Akif: “There better be.”

Her heart danced.

---

Am I burning too much in the name of slow-burn? Hehe....just some more chapters 🔥🌚