I JUST WANT YOU TO LIKE ME | ✓

▬ 30: life in orange

'Are you sure you don't mind me not going t'uni?'

The suction and slap of Ziri's flip-flops halt. His exasperation on my cheek is hotter than the sun, and I have to squint to face it. 'I don't give a single f-word. Not one. Not even, like, a quarter.'

I smile, adjusting my damp towel as it threatens to slip off my shoulder. His attitude makes me happier than it should — a couple of days ago, he wouldn't've had the energy to wedge each syllable with such sass. A couple of days ago, I still had to bribe him out of the house rather than the other way around.

Our hands interlaced, Ziri tugs me along as he continues to walk. 'Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't imagine you'd be very good at it...'

A laugh hums at the back of my throat, though it fails to scratch the itch. The terror of disappointing people is laced between layers of skin, and finally recognising it's there, doesn't make it go away. 'You're so far ahead of me. Intellectually, emotionally, in your career. I don't want you to settle.'

He halts again, dropping his head back to groan. 'Kilometres, I'm literally the most spoilt person in this country.' He rethinks. 'Well, the most spoilt child of African immigrant parents, anyway.'

Stepping in front of me, Ziri grasps my other hand too. His towel drops onto the baking tarmac, though he gives no indication of caring. It's just before noon, and the sun is blistering. I know I'll miss it once November swallows the country, but this heat is reaching the point that moving to the Arctic doesn't sound too bad.

'I'm stubborn, I never compromise, I jump to conclusions like I get paid for it,' he lists. 'I never accept responsibility for things, I'm super defensive and double down every time instead of learnin how to apologise, I'm lazy — yes, I have ADHD, but I'm also just lazy.

'I'm not some fully formed adult person with maxed-out LP. There is plenty evolvin left to do. You just can't see that because you're too in love with me — which, like, who wouldn't be, am I right?' Ziri exhales a laugh and inhales tenacity. 'But seriously, I am ahead of you in some things, sure, but I'm far behind in others.'

He dares me to argue. Eventually, I nod and, softening, Ziri leans his forehead against mine. 'I choose you.'

A familiar burn spreads from the corners of my eyes, but by this point, I've cried too much to care about it. I let the tears come as I hug him. Ziri's heart beats against my ribs. His pulse resounds mine where our necks press together.

Then I laugh down his back — was that a Pokémon reference? Brock was his first love.

As we continue our way to his parents' home, Mrs Azad walks past us with her grandchild swinging from her arm. Terror rises from my stomach, but rather than shake Ziri's hand out of mine, I hold it tighter.

She nods at us without any reaction to our interlaced fingers. 'Assalamu'alaikum.'

'Aleikum salaam,' Ziri responds as I greet her in English.

We leave our towels in the back garden to dry, and Ziri stares at me a little too intensely as I drink a glass of water, like he's fighting back the urge to drown me in it — "Allah thinks They're sooo funny sendin a heatwave on Ramadan." Though his dad's at work and his mum's sleeping after her night shift, Ziri shuts his bedroom door once we're inside. It feels safer somehow, like the rest of the world doesn't exist.

He has such a way of making me feel like the rest of the world doesn't exist.

'Are you sure about this?' he asks as he sits in front of me on the bed. 'You don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable.'

'I'm sure.' Even so, my heart hammers against my chest as he opens the liquid eyeliner. I escape into familiar fears. 'I still feel guilty. I promised you I wouldn't get tired.'