Falling into the Chaos

Twenty-three: Mine?

I leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, a faint furrow in my brow as I watched Zoya unpack their bags with an unmistakable sense of purpose.

She placed a basket of cherry tomatoes on the counter, her movements quick but deliberate.

"Adi," she began, glancing at me over her shoulder, her voice tinged with urgency. "Listen to me... we need to do this."

I sighed.

"Zoya, we've already discussed this," I replied, I tried to keep mh voice calm but firm. "It’s not as simple as you think."

"I know ..but you know what's simpler for us?.... Landing naked in your bed..... We both know we cannot keep doing this..."

I took a step back, running a hand through my hair, my chest tightening with the weight of her words. “So that’s it, then? We get married, but we keep pretending like this—whatever this is—doesn’t exist?”

Zoya’s hands trembled as she folded them across her chest, her eyes darting anywhere but to me. “It’s better this way. Cleaner. We’ll have rules, and we’ll stick to them. No emotions, no complications.”

Her words were resolute, but her voice wavered, betraying the turmoil beneath her carefully constructed mask.

I wanted to argue, to tell her that we couldn’t just bury what we felt and pretend it wasn’t there, but I knew it wouldn’t change her mind—not now.

“So what are these rules?” I asked bitterly, my voice laced with sarcasm. “Do we draw up a contract? Set curfews? Define exactly how far apart we have to stand at all times?”

She flinched at my tone but quickly composed herself, lifting her chin defiantly.

“No personal interactions outside of public appearances. No touching unless it’s for show. And definitely no… no more nights together....”

As if....

Her voice cracked on the last part, and I saw the tears she was fighting to hold back.

It cut through my frustration like a knife.

Ridiculous.

Zoya,” I said, my tone softening despite the anger simmering in my chest. “Do you really think you can follow those rules? Do you think I can?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she didn’t answer.

Then, in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, she said, “We have to try.”

The room fell silent, the weight of her words settling between us. She was trying to build walls, to create distance, but all I could see was the pain it was causing her—and me.

“Fine,” I said finally, my voice rough. “We’ll do it your way. But don’t expect me to make this easy, Zoya. Because I won’t.”

I took a step closer, my gaze locking onto hers. “I’ll follow your rules. I’ll keep my distance. But I won’t pretend I don’t want you, Zoya. And I won’t let you forget that you want me too.”

Her breath hitched, her resolve cracking just slightly before she masked it again. “You’re... stubborn...,” she whispered, her voice trembling with frustration and something else—something raw and unspoken.

“And you’re lying to yourself,” I shot back, my voice soft but firm. “But go ahead. Set your rules. Build your walls. Just don’t expect me to stop wanting you, Zoya. Because I won’t.”

Her gaze was fixed on the darkness beyond the glass, but I knew she wasn’t really seeing it. She was lost in her thoughts, in the fortress she had built around herself, the walls she thought could keep me out. But what she didn’t realize was that I’d already breached those walls—long ago. I was inside them now, tangled in her chaos, and I wasn’t going anywhere.