We weaved through the aisles, Yuki immediately picking up a packet of matcha-flavored cookies while I grabbed a box of chai biscuits.

"You drink too much chai," Yuki noted, examining my choice.

"And you eat too many sweet things," I shot back.

She just shrugged. "Fair point."

We continued down the aisles, filling our basket with small essentials. But just as we turned a corner, my steps faltered.

Zavian.

Standing near the frozen section, casually dressed in a dark hoodie and jeans, scanning something on the shelf.

I immediately looked away, hoping he wouldn't notice.

"Iman?" Yuki tilted her head. "What—"

Too late.

I heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and then—

"Fancy seeing you here, Mashal-e-Mehtaab." His voice was smooth, like he was savoring every syllable of my nickname. Of course, of course he was here.

I looked up, blinking in surprise as his gaze caught mine. For a brief second, time seemed to slow, the hum of the store fading into the background. There he was, standing in the middle of the frozen section, casually leaning against the shelves, as if this encounter was the most ordinary thing in the world.

"Oh... hello," I said, my voice sounding oddly small. I gave a simple nod, trying to mask the surprise that fluttered in my chest.

His lips curled into a knowing smile, eyes never leaving mine. "I didn't expect to run into you here. This is a... new side of you." His tone held a teasing lilt, and it made my stomach twist, though I fought to keep my expression neutral.

I quickly glanced at Yuki, who was now looking between Zavian and me, a smug glint in her eye. I shifted my weight awkwardly, feeling the weight of Zavian's gaze as if it were pressing down on me. "Well," I cleared my throat, attempting to sound casual, "the grocery store is for everyone, I suppose."

Zavian raised a brow. "True."

His gaze flickered down at the basket in my hand. "Chai biscuits, huh?" he said with a smirk. "You're more predictable than I thought."

I rolled my eyes, stepping back slightly. "I'm allowed to enjoy a good cup of chai," I said, trying to hide the warmth creeping up my neck. "What about you? Frozen pizza?"

He chuckled, a deep sound that caught me off guard. "Not today. But I have some frozen food in mind."

The banter felt oddly natural, though the tension hung in the air. Why was it always like this when he was around?

I just gave a small, stiff nod, watching him. He cocked a brow, straightening up, his posture effortless yet commanding. "See you at dinner then..." he drawled. "Maybe if Mom asks... I'll pick you up on the way," he added nonchalantly, shoving his hands into his pockets like he owned the place. With a small nod of his own, he turned and strolled off, his confident footsteps echoing through the aisle.

I stood there for a moment, staring after him, my brain sluggish as if it had just short-circuited. Oh god. Why was I so dumbstruck? Me, the sassy, sharp-tongued girl from Monday's dinner, who had been ready to roast him for every little thing. And now? Now I couldn't even muster the words to give him a proper reply.

I sighed in frustration, slapping my hand on the grocery cart. "Ughh," I muttered under my breath. What was wrong with me?

Yuki shot me a knowing smirk, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she effortlessly added more snacks to the basket. She didn't need to say a word. Her expression said it all. I rolled my eyes, trying to shake off the awkwardness, and grabbed a few bags of chips, dropping them into the cart with a little more force than necessary.

"Stop looking at me like that," I muttered, half-smiling despite myself. She just chuckled, clearly enjoying the fact that I had been caught off guard by Zavian.

"I didn't say anything," she teased, not missing a beat.

I shook my head, biting back a grin. "You didn't have to."

The rest of our shopping was done in comfortable silence, the kind of peaceful quiet that only comes when you're surrounded by people who know you inside and out. By the time we headed to the checkout, I was starting to feel more like myself again, the earlier encounter with Zavian already fading into the background.

But still, I couldn't help the nagging feeling that this dinner was going to be more complicated than I'd ever imagined.

_

After I got back to my room, I immediately pulled out my laptop, diving into the stack of research papers that were already piling up. The next two hours were a blur of typing, referencing, and the occasional sigh as I tried to get everything done. Ugh, so tiring. My brain felt like it was about to short-circuit from all the information I had to process.

Just as I was about to give myself a mental break, my phone beeped, pulling me out of the monotony. I glanced down at the screen. Zavian.

"Will pick you up at 5:30."

I stared at the message for a moment, blinking. The clock on the wall ticked over to four. Plenty of time to get ready. Not that I was looking forward to it, but this was happening, and I had no choice but to go along with it.

I exhaled a long breath, pushing myself up from the desk. Time to get myself together.

_

By 5:25, I was ready—simple jeans paired with a soft cotton kameez, a dupatta loosely draped around my neck, and a warm coat to shield against the evening chill. It wasn't anything fancy, just effortless and comfortable. Perfect.

I took one last glance at my reflection in the mirror, adjusting the dupatta slightly before turning my attention to my phone, which had just vibrated on the bedside table.

Zavian: I'm here. Come to me, Mashal-e-Mehtaab.

The way he wrote it—the deliberate spacing, the way my nickname stretched across the screen—made my stomach curl. There was something about it, about him, that always left me feeling... unsettled. Not in fear, but in the way my pulse kicked up a notch, in the way my mind scrambled to make sense of things that shouldn't matter.

I exhaled sharply, shaking off the thoughts. Grabbing my bag, I switched off the lights and made my way out.

"You can't be serious," I murmured, half-awed, half-annoyed, my breath fogging slightly in the cold evening air.

My eyes flickered over the sleek, matte-black heavy bike Zavian was casually settled on, one hand gripping the handle, the other holding out a spare helmet—clearly meant for me.

Helmet already secured over his head, he tilted it slightly, just enough for me to catch the teasing glint in his gaze through the visor. His half-sleeve black shirt stretched over his arms, muscles flexing as he shifted slightly. Wasn't he freezing?

More importantly—where was I even supposed to sit?

The very thought made my stomach flip. This man. This infuriating, smug, unpredictable man.

I crossed my arms, staring him down. "You cannot expect me to get on that."

Zavian tapped a finger against the side of his helmet, voice muffled but distinctly amused. "And yet, here you are, wasting time instead of getting on."

I stared at him for a long moment, debating my life choices before groaning in defeat and stepping closer.

"And where exactly do I sit?" I huffed, eyeing the very nonexistent space behind him like it was some cruel joke.

Zavian let out a low chuckle, tilting his head as if he were actually considering my question. "Right behind me," he said simply, patting the narrow seat. "Hold on tight, Mashal-e-Mehtaab."

I blinked at him. Hold on tight? To what?

My dignity? Gone.

My personal space? Also gone.

Zavian watched my hesitation, clearly enjoying every second of it. "Or... you could sit closer. I don't mind."

I scowled. He was enjoying this way too much.

He handed me the helmet, and I took it hesitantly, turning it over in my hands. Now, how the hell do I secure this thing?

I frowned, fumbling with the straps, trying to figure out which part went where. Was it supposed to click? Tie? Telepathically secure itself?

Zavian watched me struggle for all of three seconds before sighing. "Seriously?"

I shot him a glare. "Not all of us are born knowing how to strap one of these on, Mr. Speed Racer."

He chuckled under his breath before reaching forward. "Come here."

Before I could protest, his fingers brushed against my jaw as he adjusted the helmet, effortlessly securing the strap under my chin. The click was soft, but the warmth of his touch lingered.

"There," he murmured, pulling back slightly. "All set, Mashal-e-Mehtaab."

I swallowed, my heart doing something weird in my chest. Stupid. It was just a helmet.

Just a helmet.

I shot him a glare through the open visor. "Aren't you cold?"

He let out a low chuckle, the kind that made it seem like he knew something I didn't. "Worried?"

I scoffed, shifting on my feet. "Just curious."

Zavian tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting with amusement. "Curiosity's a dangerous thing, Mashal-e-Mehtaab."

I rolled my eyes. "So is hypothermia."

That only made his amusement deepen. "Cute."

Ugh. Why did I even ask?

I huffed, adjusting the helmet slightly. "Now, how do I get on this thing, and what do I even hold?"

Zavian's smirk widened, like he'd been waiting for this moment. "You're adorable."

I narrowed my eyes. "That didn't answer my question."

He patted the seat behind him. "Swing your leg over, sit close, and hold on to me."

My lips parted slightly. "Excuse me?"

Zavian chuckled, completely unbothered. "Or you could hold onto the bike and risk flying off the moment I speed up. Your choice, Mashal-e-Mehtaab."

I exhaled sharply, muttering Astagfirullah under my breath before carefully attempting to climb on. My movements were awkward, and I nearly lost my balance, making him grab my wrist with a low laugh.

"Careful," he murmured. "Don't want you falling before the ride even starts."

I clenched my jaw, finally settling behind him, my hands hovering uncertainly in the air. Ya Allah, what did I just sign up for?

I kept my hands awkwardly suspended in the air, refusing to give in. No way was I wrapping them around him like he wanted. Absolutely not.

But then—he started the bike.

The sudden roar of the engine sent a tremor through my body, and before I could even register it, the bike jerked forward, not fast but not so slow either. My breath hitched, and I instinctively leaned closer, my fingers brushing against his sides.

Oh.

I froze. The warmth of his body seeped through the fabric of his shirt, and beneath it—Oh shit. He was solid. Firm. The kind of build that didn't just happen overnight. My fingers barely grazed his stomach before I pulled back, but the damage was done. The feel of him lingered on my fingertips.

Zavian didn't miss a thing. He let out a low chuckle, his voice vibrating through his back. "Not gonna hold on, Mashal-e-Mehtaab?"

I clenched my jaw. "I'm perfectly fine."

He hummed, as if amused by my stubbornness. Then, without warning, he sped up.

A gasp tore from my throat as I lurched forward, my arms instinctively wrapping around his waist. I felt the deep rumble of his laugh before I heard it.

"Tch. Knew you'd come around."

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my forehead against his back for a second before muttering under my breath, "I hate you."

Zavian only laughed harder.

The next few minutes were a blur of speed and adrenaline.

Zavian rode like he owned the roads. No—like the roads were made for him. His movements were smooth, effortless, every shift of his body perfectly calculated. He weaved through traffic with a confidence that was both terrifying and mesmerizing.

I sucked in a sharp breath when he took a sharp turn, the bike tilting at an angle that made my stomach drop. My grip around his waist tightened, and I swore I felt his muscles flex under my touch.

"Zavian," I warned, my voice slightly breathless.

He just chuckled, his deep voice carrying over the wind. "Scared, Mashal-e-Mehtaab?"

Scared? I didn't even know what I was feeling anymore.

Another sharp turn. Another quick burst of speed. My heart was practically in my throat.

"Zavian, slow down," I snapped, but even I could hear the slight shake in my voice.

He only laughed, tilting his head slightly as if enjoying my reaction. "I thought you liked a little thrill?"

"Thrill?" I nearly choked. "There's a difference between thrill and insanity!"

Instead of answering, he did something absolutely ridiculous.

He let go of the handlebars for a second—a second—lifting his arms slightly before gripping them again.

My breath hitched. "You—are you insane?"

He let out a low hum, as if considering it. "Maybe. But you're still holding on tight, aren't you?"

I wanted to kill him. But more than that—I wanted to get off this damn bike in one piece.

The traffic thickened as we neared the city center, and my stomach coiled with unease. Cars zoomed past us, headlights flashing, horns blaring, but Zavian? He was completely unfazed.

I watched, heart lodged in my throat, as he weaved through impossibly small gaps between vehicles, tilting the bike with a precision that made my skin prickle. My fingers dug into his shirt, gripping the fabric instinctively.

A truck loomed to our right, too close, too fast—

"Zavian—!"

But he had already seen it.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, the bike swerved left, slipping between two cars with barely an inch to spare. My pulse pounded so hard it felt like my ribs might crack under the pressure.

"You're going to get us killed!" I shouted over the wind, voice shaking with a mix of fear and frustration.

He let out a low chuckle, shifting gears with terrifying ease. "Relax, Mashal-e-Mehtaab. I have everything under control."

Under control? The way he was riding, we were one reckless driver away from disaster.

A car up ahead switched lanes abruptly, cutting us off. I barely had time to gasp before Zavian reacted. In a heartbeat, he leaned the bike at an impossible angle, skimming past the car's bumper with a dangerous grace that made my stomach flip.

The world blurred. The city lights streaked past, and all I could hear was the roar of the engine and the erratic pounding of my own heartbeat.

I clenched my teeth, pressing closer against his back. "If we survive this, I'm never getting on this thing again," I muttered.

Zavian smirked, his voice drenched in amusement. "That's what they all say... until they ask for another ride."

God, I hated him. And maybe—just maybe—I hated how thrilling this felt too.

The moment the bike screeched to a stop in front of his house, I let out a breath I hadn't even realized I was holding. My legs felt wobbly, my heart still racing from the insane ride.

Zavian swung off the bike effortlessly, pulling off his helmet and running a hand through his hair. His sharp gaze flickered to me as I struggled to unfasten my helmet.

"You're alive," he teased, a smirk playing on his lips.

I shot him a glare, yanking the helmet off. "Barely," I muttered, my voice still breathless. "That was not normal driving."

His smirk deepened, as if he was enjoying this far too much. "It was for me."