I groaned, letting my head fall back against the cushioned seat. "Six hours? Feels like we've been here forever."

Zavian stole another bite of my pasta, completely unfazed. "Forever? We just boarded a few hours ago, sweetheart."

I shot him a look. "That's easy for you to say when you're enjoying my food and hoarding all the steak."

He smirked, leaning back lazily. "Correction—I was sharing. You, on the other hand, declared ownership over my plate."

I rolled my eyes and reached for another bite of steak, but his fork intercepted mine midair. I gasped as he casually stole my intended bite and popped it into his mouth.

"Zavian!"

He chewed leisurely, eyes twinkling with mischief. "What? Possessiveness goes both ways, Mrs. Zavian."

My stomach fluttered at the way he said that—Mrs. Zavian. It was still new, still strange, but undeniably thrilling.

I huffed, crossing my arms. "Fine. Be that way. But I need dessert now to make up for your treachery."

Zavian reached for the small dessert tray the flight attendant had left earlier, plucking a chocolate-dipped strawberry. Instead of handing it to me, he lifted it to my lips, his expression smug.

"Then let me make up for it," he murmured.

I narrowed my eyes but leaned forward, taking a bite. The rich sweetness melted on my tongue, and I barely suppressed a pleased hum.

Zavian's gaze flickered to my lips before he grinned. "Sweet enough?"

I licked the last bit of chocolate from my lip, watching the way his smirk faltered just slightly. Two could play this game.

"Not bad. But I think I need another."

His smirk returned full force. "Greedy little thing."

I only grinned, reaching for another strawberry, but Zavian was faster. He plucked it up between his fingers, twirling it lazily before bringing it to my lips again.

"Tch. Impatient, aren't we?" he murmured, his voice dipping into something deeper, smoother.

I parted my lips, ready to take a bite, but just as I leaned in, he pulled it back slightly, a smug tilt to his lips.

I narrowed my eyes. "Zavian."

"Hmm?" He looked completely unbothered, twirling the strawberry again.

I huffed, reaching for his wrist, but he easily dodged me. "Are you really going to make me fight for dessert?"

He smirked. "I'm just enjoying the view, Mashal-e-Mehtaab."

Heat flared in my cheeks, but I refused to back down. Instead, I leaned forward swiftly and took the strawberry right from his fingers, my lips brushing against the tips of them as I did.

Zavian's smirk vanished for a fraction of a second. His gaze darkened, his jaw ticking slightly as he watched me chew.

I swallowed, licking the last bit of sweetness from my lips. "Delicious," I murmured, feigning innocence.

A muscle in his jaw flexed. "Careful, Iman."

I tilted my head. "Careful of what?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned in just slightly, his fingers grazing the inside of my wrist—warm, firm. "You keep tempting me, sweetheart, and I just might forget we're on a plane."

My breath caught.

The playful game suddenly felt heavier, charged.

I swallowed, pretending to focus on my dessert. "Eat your pasta, Zavian."

He chuckled, slow and knowing. "Oh, I will. But don't think this is over."

"Sure, sure," I said, grabbing the chocolate mousse cake, letting the rich cocoa melt on my tongue. Then, with a teasing grin, I looked up at him. "So, where's my gift? You know, munh dikhai?"

Zavian leaned back, stretching an arm across the seat, his sharp gaze flickering with amusement. "Ah, how could I forget?"

I perked up expectantly, but instead of pulling out a neatly wrapped box or something predictable, he reached into his pocket and pulled out—

A single, small key.

I blinked. "What's this?"

His smirk deepened. "A key, obviously."

I narrowed my eyes. "A key to what?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower, teasing. "Patience, janeman. I'll let you find out when we land."

I scoffed. "You do realize this is practically torture, right?"

He chuckled. "You'll live." Then, just as I was about to press him for details, he reached into his jacket again and pulled out something else—a delicate, aged-looking velvet box.

My curiosity piqued instantly. "Okay, this looks more like a real gift."

"Open it."

I did, and my breath hitched.

Inside, nestled against the soft fabric, was an antique gold anklet—intricate filigree patterns woven with the tiniest blue sapphires. It was old, beautifully crafted, and unlike anything I had ever seen before.

I ran a finger over it carefully. "Zavian..."

"It belonged to my great-grandmother," he murmured, watching me closely. "It was passed down, but no one ever wore it. I wanted you to be the first."

Something warm spread through my chest.

I looked up, meeting his gaze, but there was something deeper in his expression—something unreadable, something that made my pulse stutter.

Slowly, he reached forward, brushing my foot lightly with his fingers before slipping the anklet onto my ankle. His touch lingered, warm, possessive.

"There," he said, his voice like silk, "now it belongs to you."

I swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was, how his hand still rested against my skin, thumb grazing just above my ankle in lazy strokes.

"Zavian..." I whispered, my voice barely above a breath.

His gaze flickered up, sharp and dark. "Hmm?"

"You're ridiculous."

He smirked, gripping my ankle just slightly before letting go. "And you're mine."

_

"I hate horror movies," Zavian groaned, running a hand through his hair.

I grinned, nudging his arm. "Well, I love horror movies, and tonight, you're listening to me."

He shot me a glare, but it didn't last long—his lips curved into a slow, amused smirk. "Fine. But on one condition."

I crossed my arms, raising a brow. "Which is?"

His smirk deepened as he leaned in, voice dropping to a low murmur. "We cuddle. Obviously." Then, without waiting for my reaction, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me effortlessly into his chest. "Now, come here."

I huffed, but the way his warmth instantly surrounded me made my heart betray me, hammering against my ribs. "You just wanted an excuse, didn't you?"

Zavian chuckled, his lips brushing against my temple as he tightened his hold. "Maybe. But you don't seem to mind."

I chuckled and turned on the movie. "The Exorcist"—number one ranked horror movie. Lights off, the entire vibe set. The eerie music started playing, sending an unsettling chill through the cabin.

Zavian groaned behind me. "Out of all the movies, you had to pick this one?"

I grinned, leaning back into his chest. "Scared already?"

His arms tightened around me, his breath warm against my ear. "Not scared. Just wondering how you plan to sleep after this."

I scoffed. "Bold of you to assume I'll be the one scared."

The movie progressed, and as expected, the first jumpscare hit. I barely flinched, but Zavian's hand—where it rested on my waist—tensed.

I smirked. "Was that a flinch, Mr. Noraiz?"

He exhaled through his nose, shifting until his lips brushed against my ear. "Sweetheart, the only thing making my heart race right now is you."

My breath hitched, but before I could retort, another jumpscare hit. This time, I instinctively curled into his hold, and he chuckled lowly. "See? Told you."

I scowled, refusing to admit defeat, but the way his fingers traced lazy circles on my waist had me more distracted than the movie itself.

Zavian dropped his head back, groaning in disgust as I nudged him playfully. "Scared?" I teased, biting back a grin.

His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing at the screen where the exorcism was in full swing—the possessed girl thrashing, eyes rolling back, guttural screams echoing through the speakers.

Zavian exhaled sharply. "This is ridiculous."

I gasped dramatically. "Ridiculous? This is a cinematic masterpiece!"

He shot me a dry look. "Cinematic masterpiece? The only thing this movie is achieving is making me regret letting you pick it."

I chuckled, but before I could reply, the priest on screen started chanting louder, the tension building. Then—boom! The demon screamed, the girl's body convulsing violently.

I jumped slightly, but Zavian? He muttered something under his breath and turned away.

I gawked. "Oh my God, you are scared!"

He scoffed. "I'm not scared. I'm disgusted."

I raised a brow, smirking. "Disgusted... and scared."

He gave me a warning look, but I only leaned closer, whispering, "Say it. Admit you're scared, Mr. Noraiz."

His eyes darkened as he shifted, pulling me onto his lap in one swift motion. My breath hitched as his fingers traced slow patterns on my waist.

"Careful, sweetheart," he murmured, voice low and teasing, "You just might regret provoking me."

My heart pounded, but I refused to back down. "Oh? What are you gonna do, Zavian? Hide behind me when the next jumpscare hits?"

His lips curled into a slow smirk. "Nah. Just find better ways to keep you distracted."

The challenge in his tone sent shivers down my spine.

I smirked, tilting my head as I traced an absentminded finger over the back of his hand. "I'm not the one who needs distraction, Mr. Husband. It's you."

Zavian's gaze darkened, his fingers flexing against my waist. "Is that so?" he murmured, voice dipping lower.

I leaned in just enough to let the tension simmer between us, my lips inches from his ear. "Mhm."

A sharp scream echoed from the screen, and Zavian's fingers twitched—just slightly.

I gasped dramatically. "Oh my God, you flinched!"

His jaw clenched as he exhaled slowly, eyes locking onto mine. "Iman," he warned, but I only grinned wider.

"It's okay to admit it, Zavian. Even the mighty can be humbled by The Exorcist."

His smirk returned, slow and wicked. "You really want to play this game, sweetheart?"

Before I could react, he shifted suddenly, flipping me onto my back against the plush bed. A gasp left my lips as his weight caged me in, his hands on either side of my head.

"Because if we're talking distractions," he murmured, his nose grazing mine, "I can think of something far more effective than horror movies."

The warmth of his breath sent shivers down my spine. The movie continued playing, the eerie chanting filling the small cabin, but it was nothing compared to the way he was looking at me now—like I was the only thing in the world worth paying attention to.

"Careful, Zavian," I whispered, my own voice betraying me with a slight tremor. "You might be the one getting distracted."

His lips hovered over mine, his smirk deepening. "Maybe. But tell me, Iman—are you scared?"

My heart pounded as his fingers brushed against my jaw, featherlight. "Of you? Never."

He chuckled lowly. "Good. Because you shouldn't be."

I pushed against his chest, sitting up abruptly. He didn't resist—just let out a deep chuckle, settling back against the pillows with an infuriatingly amused expression.

"Come on, Zavian... I'm friend-zoning you." I announced, flipping my hair over my shoulder for extra dramatic effect.

His grin widened, lazy and utterly unbothered. "Friend-zoning your own husband? Bold move, sweetheart."

I smirked, crossing my arms. "I mean, technically, we've only been married for a few hours. It's a loophole."

Zavian's brows lifted, eyes gleaming with mischief as he shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. "A loophole, huh?" His voice was pure, velvety amusement. "You really think you can friend-zone me?"

I shrugged. "Of course. Friends don't stare at each other like they're planning world domination."

His fingers grazed my wrist, slow, deliberate. "And what if I don't accept this friend zone?"

I scoffed, yanking my hand away. "It's not up for discussion, Mr. Husband. Now pass me the popcorn—"

But before I could finish, he grabbed my wrist again, this time pulling me forward until I landed right against his chest. My breath hitched as I met his gaze—smoky, teasing, and entirely too smug.

"Friends don't hold hands like this, Mashal-e-Mehtaab," he murmured, his thumb stroking the inside of my wrist, sending a jolt up my spine.

I swallowed. "They—They totally can."

"Mmm," he hummed, unconvinced. His fingers slid up my arm, warm and steady. "And do friends do this?"

I sucked in a breath. "I—"

"And this?" He leaned in just enough to brush his nose against mine, his breath fanning over my lips.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I cleared my throat. "You're really bad at this whole 'friend' thing."

Zavian smirked, his grip tightening just a fraction. "And you're really bad at lying."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, my pulse hammering beneath his touch. His smirk was pure arrogance, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

I squared my shoulders. "Fine. If you're so against being friend-zoned, then what do you suggest?"

Zavian tilted his head, pretending to think. "Husband privileges. Effective immediately."

I narrowed my eyes. "And what exactly do these privileges include?"

His fingers traced slow, teasing circles against my wrist. "For starters... unlimited hand-holding. Maybe even cuddling. A kiss here and there—"

I shoved his shoulder, but he didn't budge. "You're impossible."

"And yet, you married me." His lips twitched. "Now, do you want to waste the rest of this flight arguing, or do you want to admit that you like being close to me?"

I rolled my eyes, but my body betrayed me, leaning just slightly into his warmth. He noticed. Of course he did.

Zavian's smirk softened into something deeper, something that made my stomach flip. He reached for my hand again, this time intertwining our fingers properly.

"See?" he murmured, voice dipping into something dangerously smooth. "No friend-zone in sight."

I bit my lip. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"More than you know, Mrs. Zavian."

-