They didn't talk about it again—not directly.
After the café, things shifted. Not dramatically. Just enough.
Malik still texted her good morning. Zara still sent him memes at midnight. They still met for lunch, still argued about movies, still laughed too loudly in public.
But now, there were glances that lingered. Fingers that brushed and didn't pull away. A silence that felt like a secret language.
They had agreed—no one needed to know. Not yet.
"It's not lying," Zara had said. "It's just… ours."
Malik had nodded, but his eyes had flickered with something she couldn't name.
At work, they were colleagues. At parties, they were friends. In the quiet moments—when the world wasn't watching—they were something else.
A touch on her back as he passed behind her. A shared look across a crowded room. A late-night call that ended with whispered goodbyes and hearts beating too fast.
It was thrilling. And terrifying.
Zara found herself watching him more closely. Noticing the way he smiled at others. Wondering if they saw what she saw. Wondering if they ever would.
Malik, for his part, seemed calm. But sometimes, when they were alone, he'd say things like, "I wish I could hold your hand in public," or "Do you think they'd understand?"
And Zara would answer, "Not yet."
They were building something fragile. Something beautiful. Something that lived in the quiet between them.
But secrets have weight. And eventually, they demand to be heard.