Alayna pov:
The tension in the room snapped, replaced by the mundane but frantic energy of a looming deadline. Salar was already halfway out the door, his voice echoing back about "checking the tire pressure," leaving me alone with the man who was currently a puzzle I couldn't solve.
I looked at the charcoal smudge on my palm, then back at Zayn. He was leaning against the table, his eyes fixed on the tablet screen, but his thumb was rubbing against his jaw—a nervous habit he'd had since he was sixteen. He wasn't the CEO in that moment; he was just a guy trying to fix a mistake.
"I can't believe I am saying this, but yes," I said, my voice finally finding its footing. "Tell me when we are about to leave."
Zayn's gaze flicked up to mine. For a second, the heavy, unspoken "prove it" hung between us again, but he didn't try to answer it with words. He just gave a single, curt nod—part professional acknowledgment, part silent gratitude.
"Ten minutes," he said. "I'll honk the horn."
I didn't wait for anything else. I turned and walked out of the library, the cool air of the hallway hitting my face like a reset button. I walked across the shared driveway and slipped back into my house, the quiet of the foyer a sharp contrast to the storm I'd just left behind.
I needed to wash the charcoal off my hands. I needed to change into shoes that could handle a dusty warehouse. But mostly, I just needed ten minutes to breathe without him in my periphery.
As I scrubbed the black dust from my skin, I looked at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed, and my eyes looked wider than they had in years. I was still angry, I was still terrified of the Nikkah, and I still didn't know if I could trust the version of Zayn standing in that library.
But as I heard the low rumble of his car engine start up outside, I realized that for the first time in five years, we weren't just running away from each other. We were actually going somewhere together.
Zayn pov:
The drive to the outskirts of the city was supposed to take two hours.
I was behind the wheel of the SUV, my hands gripping the leather tighter than necessary. Alayna sat in the passenger seat, staring fixedly out the window at the passing industrial landscape, her sketchbook clutched in her lap like a shield. In the back, Rayan and Zara were engaged in a heated debate about the merits of brutalist architecture, their bickering providing a much-needed sonic barrier between Alayna and me.
"You're overthinking the steering, Zayn," Rayan called out, leaning forward between the headrests. "Relax. We're out of the 'War Zone.' No mothers, no lace samples, no guest lists. Enjoy the smog."
I caught Alayna's reflection in the side mirror. Her lips twitched, almost a smile, before she suppressed it.
"I'm just trying to get us there before the warehouse closes, Rayan," I muttered, flicking my indicator.
The air in the car was thick with everything we hadn't said in the library. The "prove it" was a phantom sitting in the backseat. I wanted to say something—to tell her I liked the way she'd pinned her hair back today, or that I was glad she came—but the "CEO" in my head kept reminding me that I didn't have the right to be familiar yet.
As we cleared the city limits, the sky began to bruise. The bright Karachi sun was swallowed by heavy, charcoal-colored clouds rolling in from the coast.
"That doesn't look like a light drizzle," Zara remarked, peering up through the sunroof.
She was right. Within ten minutes, the first heavy drops slammed against the windshield. Then, the sky simply opened up. It was one of those sudden, violent summer storms that turned the roads into rivers in seconds.
"Zayn, slow down," Alayna said, her voice sharp with genuine concern. It was the first time she'd spoken directly to me in an hour.
"I can barely see the lines," I admitted, squinting through the rhythmic slap of the wipers.
Then, the car shuddered.
A metallic clunk echoed from beneath the hood, followed by the dreaded hiss of steam. The dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree. I managed to coast the dying vehicle onto a narrow, gravel shoulder just as the engine gave a final, wheezing gasp and died.
Silence filled the cabin, punctuated only by the roar of the rain on the metal roof.
"Tell me that was just a very loud cat," Rayan sighed from the back.
"Engine's overheated. Probably a blown radiator hose," I said, dropping my forehead against the steering wheel for a second. "I can't fix this in a monsoon."
I looked at my phone. No Service. I looked at Alayna. She was looking at the flooded road, her expression a mix of frustration and something that looked suspiciously like cosmic resignation.
"There's a roadside rest-house about half a mile back," Zara said, tapping her own phone screen. "I saw the sign. It's a government transit house for engineers. If we can make it there, we might be able to call a tow in the morning."
"We're walking? In this?" Rayan gestured to the deluge outside.
"Unless you want to spend the night in a cramped SUV with your sister and your brooding best friend," I said, reaching for the door handle.
We made the dash. By the time we reached the heavy wooden doors of the rest-house, we were all drenched to the bone. The caretaker, a sleepy man in a worn sweater, looked at our bedraggled group with confusion before leadenly agreeing to let us stay.
"Two rooms," he said, jingling a pair of rusted keys. "That's all that's clean. One for the ladies, one for the men."
He led us down a dim, flickering hallway that smelled of old wood and floor wax. I stood in the middle of the small, spartan room assigned to Rayan and me, listening to the thunder shake the windowpane.
A knock at the connecting door drew my attention.
I opened it to find Alayna. Her clothes were soaked, her hair sticking to her neck, and she was shivering. She held a thin, scratchy wool blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
"The heater in our room is broken," she whispered, her teeth chattering. "And Zara... Zara is already asleep. She can sleep through a hurricane."
I stepped back, inviting her in without a word. Rayan was already passed out on the far bed, snoring loudly enough to rival the thunder.
"Sit by the radiator," I said, my voice rough. I grabbed a dry towel from the rack and handed it to her.
As she sat on the edge of the radiator cover, rubbing the towel over her hair, the "CEO" finally went quiet. There was no boardroom here. No grandfathers. Just the sound of the rain and the girl who was currently the only thing in the world that mattered.
"You're shivering," I said, moving closer.
"I'm fine, Zayn."
"You're not." I sat on the floor a few feet away from her, leaning my back against the wall. "This wasn't exactly the 'getaway' I had in mind."
Alayna looked at me through the damp strands of her hair. The orange glow of the heater cast long, flickering shadows across her face.
"It's the first time in a week I haven't heard the word 'wedding,'" she said quietly. "Maybe the car knew what it was doing."
I looked at her, and the "prove it" from the library felt like a physical weight in the room. I reached out, my hand hovering near hers on the radiator, but I didn't touch her. Not yet.
"I'm sorry we're stuck here," I said.
"Are you?" she asked, her eyes searching mine. "Or is this just another part of the plan, Mr. Malik?"