The world in Hana's mind felt thick, heavy, and unreal.
Darkness clung to the edges of her thoughts, while flickering lights blurred in and out of focus — flashes of neon, the pulse of a bassline, the scent of cologne and rain.
And then there was him.
Aryan.
Or maybe not Aryan.
Not quite the careful, quiet campus assistant.
This was different.
Sharper.
Darker.
A stranger who knew her too well.
In the dream, she was back on the dance floor, though it felt endless now, the music low and distant. Their bodies moved together like they'd done earlier, but closer, hungrier.
His hands weren't tentative anymore. They gripped her waist, slid along the curve of her back, pulling her against the hard line of his body.
Her breath hitched.
He leaned down, his mouth grazing the shell of her ear.
A voice like smoke and midnight.
"Do you know what you're doing to me?"
She tried to answer, but no words came. Only the quick, shallow rise of her chest against his.
Then lips on hers — fierce, claiming, and she melted into it.
The kiss tasted of whiskey, danger, and something she never wanted to escape.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, the rational part of her whispered to pull away.
This isn't you. This isn't safe.
But she didn't.
Couldn't.
The world spun.
They were in a dimly lit room, walls lined with shadows, the city's glow seeping through blinds.
Fingers tangled in her hair.
A jacket hitting the floor.
His shirt next.
His body was every bit as perfect as she remembered — strong, defined, the kind of strength you earned, not inherited.
Her hands traced the planes of his torso, memorizing him.
He caught her wrists, holding them gently against the wall, a wicked glint in his dark eyes.
His voice rough against her throat.
"You're not running now, are you?"
She shook her head.
And then his mouth was on hers again, and the air left her lungs.
Their connection was desperate and beautiful, like two people chasing the only moment they'd ever have before the world burned.
Every touch, every sigh felt both intimidating and addictive.
A mixture of danger and need.
In the dream, it didn't matter what secrets they carried.
Or what war waited outside.
It was just skin against skin, lips against lips, hearts racing in time with a rhythm only they could hear.
The moment stretched, breathless, until—
"Hana!"
A knock.
Reality.
Her eyes snapped open in the morning light, heart hammering against her ribcage. Sweat clung to her skin, her lips tingling as though they'd actually been kissed.
It was a dream. Just a dream.
But it felt like so much more.
She sat up, pressing a trembling hand to her chest.
Because even in sleep…
she couldn't deny what she wanted.
And what terrified her most…
was that she wasn't sure she wanted to fight it anymore.