The evening had settled like a soft blanket over the Malik residence. The sky outside was turning a dusky shade of pink, and the scent of rain lingered faintly in the air, as if the universe itself was holding its breath.

Zoya sat at the edge of Akif’s bed, fingers brushing against the pages of an old photo album. Childhood pictures, faded report cards, medals — pieces of a boy who had become the man she now knew. The room was quiet, save for the ticking of the wall clock and the occasional gust of wind brushing against the windows.

Akif stood by the shelf, pulling out another album, but he wasn’t looking at it — he was looking at her. His eyes softened as he watched her tilt her head, smiling at a particularly funny photo of him with a bowl haircut.

"You looked like a coconut," she teased, laughing gently.

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his smile. “And yet, somehow you’re still here.”

Zoya looked up, her laughter fading into something softer. Deeper. Their eyes met — and for a moment, the air around them thickened.

He took a step closer. Then another.

Zoya closed the album gently and placed it on the bed beside her. Her hands were still. Her heart wasn’t.

Akif sat down, close enough that their shoulders brushed. “You know,” he said quietly, “this is the first time someone’s sat here... like this. My space has always been mine. But with you—it doesn’t feel crowded.”

She looked up, cheeks faintly flushed. “I’ve never felt... this safe before.”

His hand found hers slowly. Fingers brushing, then tangling.

“You scare me, Zoya,” he whispered, eyes burning into hers. “Because you make me feel everything I never thought I needed.”

And she didn’t say a word.

Because suddenly, his other hand was on her cheek. Thumb gently tracing the edge of her lips, as if memorizing them. Her breath hitched. His eyes dropped to her mouth.

There was no rush. No hunger. Just two hearts crawling closer after fighting the distance for far too long.

He leaned in slowly — like asking permission with every second. She didn’t move.

Their lips met.

Soft at first. Barely there. But then it deepened — a quiet ache bursting into something deeper. Something real. His hand slid to the back of her neck. Hers curled into his shirt.

A silent gasp. A stolen breath.

They pulled away just an inch, foreheads touching. Eyes closed.

Neither of them spoke.

Because in that moment, everything had already been said.

The silence wasn’t awkward — it was sacred. It was the sound of hearts finally speaking in their native language.

Akif exhaled shakily. “You’re going to ruin me, Zoya.”

She smiled softly, still catching her breath. “Maybe I already have.”

And for the first time in years, Akif Malik felt like he didn’t need to be in control.

He just needed her.

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GOSHHHHH I WAS BLUSHING SO MUCH WHILE WRITING THISSSSS ARGHHHH🌚🙈🤭 🎀