Laced in Your Ruin

Chapter [VIII]: The Ride That Shouldn't Have Happened

The evening air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth after the light drizzle that had graced the city earlier that afternoon. The dim streetlights flickered, painting long, ghostly shadows on the pavement as Inara hurried down the college stairs, clutching her tote bag a little tighter against her chest. The last class of the day had drained her—mentally, emotionally, and even physically.

She had always been someone who loved academics, but something about today had exhausted her beyond words. Maybe it was the heavy syllabus discussion, or maybe, just maybe, it was him.

Qays Malik.

A name that had begun to occupy far more space in her mind than she would ever care to admit.

Their earlier argument had left her unsettled. Not because of what he had said—she was more than used to snarky, arrogant men with an overinflated sense of self-worth—but because of how he had said it. His eyes, for all their sharp cruelty, had flickered with something deeper when she had called him by his first name. Almost like she had peeled back a layer he had never meant to expose.

Qays.

She almost wanted to say it out loud again just to see if it carried the same weight in the quiet darkness.

"Inara!" Siya's voice rang through the empty corridor, breaking her from her daze. "You're coming with me, right? I told you Bhai will drop us home."

She hesitated, glancing towards the college gate. The metro station wasn't too far, and she had gotten used to traveling alone. She liked the solitude—the thirty minutes of peaceful silence where she could listen to soft ghazals and let her mind wander.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a deep orange glow over the city, turning the roads into streaks of fire and shadow. The evening was lively—honking cars, impatient pedestrians, and the distant scent of street food lingering in the air. But none of that mattered to Inara Alawi.

Her hands clutched the straps of her bag a little tighter as she stepped out of the college gate, her heart still hammering from the debate with Qays Malik. The man was insufferable. Arrogant. Cold. The way he had looked at her—like she was nothing but an insect buzzing in his ears—infuriated her. And yet, there was something about that look, something she could not quite place, that unsettled her.

She was late today. Usually, she'd have left earlier, caught the Metro, and been home before Maghrib. But today, because of that heated argument with Qays, time had slipped past her. She could already hear her mother's voice in her head, worried about why she was late.

Her house was a long ride away, and at this hour, the buses would be jam-packed. The Metro wasn't any better. The idea of squeezing into an overcrowded train, standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers, made her feel exhausted already.

She let out a slow sigh and pulled out her phone, debating whether to book a cab.

"Taking the Metro?"

The voice sent a sharp jolt down her spine.

She turned swiftly, and there he was—Qays Malik, standing beside his sleek black Audi, leaning against the car door like he had all the time in the world. His expression was unreadable, his deep brown eyes scrutinizing her as if she were some puzzle he had yet to solve.

Inara immediately stiffened. "Yes," she said curtly, stepping back as if standing too close to him would taint her soul.

Qays raised an eyebrow, as if amused by her obvious discomfort. "It'll be crowded."