Rival Lovers

| 018 |

Zaara

The sunlight streaming through the window felt like a personal attack. My head was pounding, my throat was dry, and the memory of last night was playing on an endless, annoying loop in my mind.

I groaned, pulling the duvet over my head as if that would somehow erase everything. But no amount of darkness could change the fact that Lucas Reed had dragged himself into my life in the most infuriating way yet.

Fighting Kian. In front of everyone.

I didn't know whether to scream or laugh when I thought about it. The image of Lucas squaring up to Kian, the sheer rage in his eyes as he threw that first punch—it was burned into my brain. And the worst part? A tiny, stupid part of me had been... impressed.

"Get a grip, Zaara," I muttered, sitting up and running a hand through my tangled hair

I dragged myself out of bed and headed to the sink, splashing cold water on my face in the hopes it would snap me out of whatever weird haze I was in.

By the time I was dressed and semi-functional, I had convinced myself that Lucas was irrelevant. Just another guy with a hero complex and too much testosterone. He wasn't worth my energy.

Or at least, that's what I told myself as I walked into the campus café a little while later, desperately in need of caffeine.

The place was buzzing with the usual morning crowd—students hunched over laptops, professors sipping overpriced lattes, and a line that stretched almost to the door. I joined the queue, tugging my hoodie tighter around me to block out the world.

"Zaara," a voice drawled behind me, low and familiar.

I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Not in the mood, Lucas," I said, keeping my eyes fixed on the menu board above the counter.

"That's new," he said, stepping closer. "You're usually dying to lecture me about something."

I turned to glare at him, and there he was—hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, dark hair still damp from a shower, and a cocky smirk plastered across his face. The bruise on his cheek was even more noticeable in the harsh light of the café, and for some reason, that sent a fresh wave of irritation through me.

"You've got some nerve showing your face after last night," I said, crossing my arms.

Lucas shrugged, completely unfazed. "Why? Because I defended your honour or whatever?"

I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. "You didn't defend anything. You just made a scene."

"Oh, come on," he said, leaning against the counter like he owned the place. "Admit it—you liked it."

"You're delusional," I shot back.

"And you're welcome," he said, grinning.

I wanted to strangle him. Or maybe throw my coffee at him, except I didn't have one yet.

"Why do you even care what Kian said?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "It's not like we're friends or anything."