Meher approached, her expression unreadable, and pulled out the chair opposite Danish.
"So," she said coolly, setting her purse down and crossing her legs with quiet elegance, "you were here all this time?"
Danish glanced up, the corner of his lips twitching into a lopsided smile as he leaned back in his seat.
"Yeah… with a close friend of mine."
Her brow arched, just enough to suggest amusement tinged with suspicion.
"Close friend? You never introduced me to this mysterious friend of yours."
He chuckled, brushing off her probing tone with a lazy wave of his hand.
"You'll see. But first—let's order something for you."Just as he raised his hand to signal the waiter, the restaurant's front doors swung open, letting in a draft of late afternoon air—and someone else.
Zayn Hashmi.
He stepped inside with the kind of presence that shifted the air in the room , his eyes were scanning—until they found the pair by the window. The second his gaze landed on them, his stride slowed. A flicker of surprise crossed his features, quickly masked by the hard set of his jaw.
Danish spotted him first and grinned widely, lifting his arm in an enthusiastic wave.
"Zayn! Over here!"
Meher froze.
The name struck her ears like a discordant note. Her breath hitched, her shoulders stiffened, and then—slowly, as if compelled by something outside herself—she turned.
It was him.
Zayn.
Her expression soured immediately. The muscles in her jaw tightened, and her grip on her purse resting on the opposite chair turned rigid.
As he neared, she didn't wait.
"You're stalking me now?" she said coldly, her voice low but sharp—razor-edged enough to make a few diners at nearby tables glance over.
Zayn didn't flinch. His eyes, cool and unreadable, flicked to the curious onlookers, and with just one look from him, they all turned discreetly back to their meals.
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering.
"I left my phone here," he said, voice even, measured.
He reached for the device lying near the edge of the table.His fingers brushed perilously close to hers. The touch wasn't accidental—it was too precise, too drawn out to be anything but deliberate. Meher didn't flinch, but the quiet tension between them spiked like static.
Zayn lifted the phone, holding it up with a dry smirk.
"See?"
The mockery in his tone was unmistakable.
Meher didn't bother responding. She leaned back slowly, her silence louder than any insult she could've hurled. Her eyes were dark, unreadable.
Danish, sensing the storm cloud forming between them, jumped in with his usual tactless enthusiasm.
"I told you I was with a close friend," he said brightly. "Here he is—Zayn Hashmi."
Meher let out a short, sarcastic laugh.
"Zayn Hashmi? Your close friend? Strange… very strange."
Danish only shrugged, unfazed.
"Life is full of surprises."
He motioned to the empty seat.
"Come on, join us."
"No, thanks," Zayn replied curtly, stepping back.
But then he stopped.
A flicker of something crossed his eyes—an image, uninvited. Meher, laughing beside Danish, sunlight on her face, back in Scotland. The photograph that haunted him more than he liked to admit.
His jaw flexed.
Without another word, he pulled out the chair and sat down.
"So," Meher said, addressing Danish but speaking louder than necessary, "how long have you two been friends?""Since childhood," Danish replied with a fond glance at Zayn. "He's been stuck with me forever."
Zayn rolled his eyes but said nothing.
"And you two?" Danish asked, raising a curious brow at Meher.
"We met at a café," Meher said dryly, not looking up. "He spilled tea on me. Ruined my clothes."
Danish laughed out loud.
"Seriously, Hashmi? That's how you introduced yourself?"
Zayn's eyes darkened, his voice cutting through Danish's laughter like ice.
"I didn't do it on purpose, Miss."
"But you didn't apologize afterward," she shot back, finally meeting his eyes.
There was no warmth in his half-smile.
"Do you want me to apologize now?"
Meher leaned forward slowly, locking eyes with him.
"Consider it balanced," she said.Zayn gave a single nod.
"Alright."
The table fell into uneasy silence. The air felt heavier now, thick with words left unspoken and meanings buried beneath civil tones.
Danish clapped his hands lightly, trying to clear the atmosphere.
"Okay, okay. Let's just order."A few minutes later, Zayn's phone buzzed. He glanced down at the screen. His expression softened for a split second—just a flicker.
Grandpa.
He stood, pushing his chair back.
"I have to leave."
Danish smirked.
"Grandpa calling, huh?"
Zayn gave him a sharp look.
"Still can't drop that habit of interfering, Danish?"
Danish raised his hands in mock surrender.
"Some habits never die."
Zayn shook his head, then turned to leave. But before he walked away, his eyes drifted back to Meher.
"We'll meet again… Meher," he said, his voice quiet, almost too quiet—but the weight of the words lingered between them long after he'd gone.
Meher blinked. The name on his lips—her name—somehow sounded different when he said it. She didn't know why it made her breath catch for just a moment. But she didn't answer.
Later, as she walked with Danish toward the cashier's counter, she paused.
"You didn't bring us the bill yet," she said to the man behind the register.
The cashier smiled politely.
"Your table has already been paid for, ma'am."
She frowned.
"By whom?"
"Mr. Hashmi," he replied with practiced ease. "Have a good day, ma'am."
Meher stared at the man for a second, then looked away quickly, lips parting in surprise—but no words came.
She stepped outside into the late afternoon sun, Danish walking beside her, chatting about something inconsequential. She barely heard him.Her thoughts were elsewhere—on the man who had just left, on his words, his stare, and the unexpected gesture that refused to leave her mind.
A faint, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
She didn't fight it.
To be continued....