Ayra didn't sleep.
The ceiling had never looked so loud.
She kept hearing it —
Zayn's voice.
Zayn's kiss.
Her pillow still smelled like his hoodie, the one he pulled around her before leaving at 1AM like a ghost that finally touched something warm and panicked.
Now it was morning.
And everything felt the same — except her.
She brushed her teeth like she could scrub the memory out. She couldn't. Her lips still tingled, not from the kiss, but from the question it left behind.
What are we now?
At school, the air felt denser.
Zayn didn't sit next to her in class.
He didn't even look at her.
Only once — when Cairo walked in, paused by her seat, and smiled.
"Can I steal you for a walk later?" he whispered.
Ayra blinked. "Why?"
"You'll see."
He winked. Zayn clenched his jaw from across the room.
Later that afternoon, under the tree behind the faculty block, Cairo sat beside her on the bench. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his cologne soft but assertive. There was something serious in his eyes today.
"I've been thinking," he started.
"About?"
"You and me."
She looked down at her fingers.
"I know you and Zayn have… whatever it is you think you have. But I'm not afraid of that."
"Cairo—"
"No," he said, voice firm but gentle. "I need you to hear me. I want to take you out. Just once. Let me show you what it could feel like to be chosen, not chased."
Her chest tightened.
Zayn's kiss.
Cairo's words.
Her own confusion.
"Just one date," he said, "Then you can decide if you still want to keep wondering about him."
Ayra's throat dried. The world tilted.
And she said nothing.
Because in that moment — even silence felt dangerous