under the covers [hs au]

chapter fifty-three.

Samira's mouth parted, and her breath hitched.

The silence between them said words their lips wouldn't dare to speak. The tension raised the hairs on Samira's arms, and she could hear her quiet panting, in and out, in and out.

Zafri swiped his tongue over his lips, his Adam's apple quivering. Mere moments after his assertion, he broke his poignant gape, turning his heel.

Bile rose in Samira's throat, and her tongue sweltered. Gravity pulled her arms and legs deliberately into the ground—she blinked quickly, straightening her stance.

Fight or flight.

Fight or flight, Samira?

Samira felt her fingers tremble, and her mind swamped with questions.

Who would she fight? Where would she fly? Was it facing Zafri or running away? Or was it facing herself or falling at his feet? What the fuck?

The lightbulb in her mind flickered vehemently. Nothing made sense.

"Zafri . . ." She cleared her throat, sweeping her hair out of her face. "Wait."

He loved her, but why? How?

There was a bus bench—Zafri sat down on the far end, clouds of his breath glooming in the air. He rubbed his hands together; by his intimidating aura, rigid posture, and creased eyebrows, Samira inferred more was bottled up inside.

Samira rested on the other end, sweat prickling her scalp. Her chest rose and fell at a rapid pace. Amidst their strenuous silence, the breeze sang in their ears, and snow sloshed from passing cars—but it didn't kill the loud tension between them.

"I know that was sudden, and I meant it, I just . . ."

Zafri braced his elbows on his knees, combing through his black curls distressfully.

"It's hard to tell if you're trying or if you care. I don't think you trust me."

Samira gulped as if a boulder was stuck in her throat. The weight in Zafri's chest now toppled on her; he laid out all their unsaid words, which they both embedded into passive-aggressive actions over the past couple of weeks.

"You're not opening up no matter how much I talk to you. Like, what's happening here, Samira? I know you said you like me, but I want to know what you're really feeling and if you trust me. But I'm so certain about you, and I'll wait for you if I have to. But if you don't want this, you can tell me anytime, and it can end. I'll move on."

All her fears had awakened, creaking in Samira's ears like a broken wooden floor with every step she took. Samira couldn't freeze in place anymore—Zafri was by the door at the end of the hall, stretching his hand out for her. Questions made her sweat; should she face her fears and join him, or stay where she was and let him go on his own?

But Zafri wouldn't go without Samira. Would he?

"I can't trust you because I'm scared," she disclosed, her pulse beating against her flesh.

Now that Zafri spoke his truth, it was Samira's turn—the last time she didn't, everything snowballed into an avalanche and shattered right in her face.

You're brave, Samira. Who are you pretending to be?

Zafri leaned against the bench, exhaling through his nose inaudibly.

"Of what?"

His tone laced with heed; Samira hated herself for ignoring Zafri's apparent vigilance.