Only for You

9: Karma?

The next morning, at 5:45 a.m., the apartment was bathed in the dim blue light of dawn. Fatima sat on the edge of the bed, locking her phone before slipping it into her bag. She pulled her dress back on, carefully smoothing the fabric over her skin. Picking up her shoes in one hand and her bag in the other, she tiptoed toward the door, her bare feet making no sound on the cool floor.

Her eyes flicked over to Zac, who was still fast asleep on the couch, his chest rising and falling steadily under the blanket he'd pulled over himself. Fatima paused, staring at him for a moment. She let out a soft sigh, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. This was it—the last time. Zac was stirring something deep inside her, something she'd never felt with anyone before, and that was dangerous. She couldn't afford to slip like this, not again.

Silently, she unlocked the door and pulled it open just enough to squeeze through. She glanced back at Zac one last time before stepping out into the hallway, closing the door gently behind her with a soft click. Her heart raced as she rushed down the hallway, her shoes dangling from her hand.

In the elevator, she leaned against the wall, her mind spinning with thoughts she didn't want to confront. She needed to get out of there—out of that apartment and away from the pull Zac had on her.

The doors slid open, and she stepped into the empty lobby, grateful that there wasn't anyone at the front desk to ask questions or make small talk. She hurried out onto the street, the cool morning air hitting her face. Manhattan was unusually quiet at this hour, the streets almost deserted.

Fatima bit her lip, scanning the area for a taxi. Just as she started to worry about how long she'd be standing there, her eyes lit up as she spotted a taxi coming down the street. She raised her hand and waved urgently.

"Taxi!" she called, her voice carrying through the still morning air.

The taxi slowed and then pulled over to the curb. Fatima hurried over, yanking the door open and slipping inside. She let out a breath of relief, sinking into the back seat.

"Where to, ma'am?" the driver asked, glancing at her through the rearview mirror.

She paused for a second, collecting herself. "Upper East Side," she said, giving the driver her address.

"Long night?"

"Something like that."

As the taxi pulled away from the curb, Fatima stared out the window, the city slowly waking up around her. She leaned her head back against the seat, the weight of her decision sinking in. This thing with Zac—whatever it was—it needed to stop, before it spiraled into something more.
______________________

Zac stood by the window, watching as Fatima hurried into the taxi. Her voice, calling for a "Taxi!" had pulled him from his sleep, and now he stood there, feeling the distance between them grow with every second. He sighed, running a hand down his face in frustration. Just when he thought they were making some kind of progress, she slipped away again, retreating behind those walls she'd built around herself.

He shook his head, disappointment settling in. What had he expected? Fatima was clear about her boundaries—no pillow talk, no lingering, no attachment. But that didn't stop the frustration from gnawing at him. He glanced at his phone on the counter, the screen lighting up with the time: 5:58 a.m.

With another sigh, he slipped it into his pocket and muttered to himself, "I deserve a cup of coffee and a workout." There was no use letting this stress him out, not on a Saturday morning.

Zac turned away from the window, his bare feet padding softly on the cool hardwood floor as he made his way into the kitchen. He set up the coffee maker, listening to the low hum as it brewed. His mind, however, was still replaying the events of last night—the way she'd looked at him, the way her body felt against his, the vulnerability in her eyes she tried so hard to hide.