Meher's fingers tightened around the steering wheel as the city lights streaked past her windshield. Her mind wasn't on the road—it was still tangled in the proposal, the implications, the words left unsaid. Every red light felt longer, heavier, as if the universe itself wanted her to sit with her thoughts.
Her phone buzzed.
She glanced at the screen.
Zayn.
Miss Meher, looks like you're already finding reasons to stay close to me.
Her jaw clenched. Without a second thought, she flung the phone onto the passenger seat, the sound sharp in the quiet car.
"What is wrong with everyone?" she muttered, frustration seeping into her voice. "And what's wrong with me?"
She exhaled harshly. "Why can't I win against him in a fight when I can silence everyone else with just one look?"
The car slowed as she pulled over—something wasn't right.A few minutes later, another car appeared on the same stretch of road.
Zayn drove with one hand on the wheel, the other holding his phone, eyes flicking between the screen and the road.
"Why isn't she answering?" he muttered. "Did I say something wrong?"
He braked suddenly.
Ahead, parked by the roadside, was Meher's car.
And beside it—
His eyes narrowed.Meher was leaning into the open side of her car, clearly occupied with something inside, her posture tense and impatient. Danish stood a short distance away, watching her with an easy confidence, a lug wrench resting casually in his hand, a faint smirk playing on his lips—as if he had all the time in the world.
Zayn's eyes narrowed.
"What's going on there?" he muttered. "I'd better help her."He sped forward and stopped with a sharp drift. Gravel scattered under the tires. Meher and Danish both turned at the sound.Zayn stepped out, fixing his shirt, his eyes already locked on them, dark with unreadable intent."Are you two on a picnic?" he asked lightly.
Before Danish could respond, Zayn reached out and snatched the lug wrench from his hand.
Lowering his voice, he leaned in.
"Don't walk around with tools like this," he whispered. "Someone might think you're about to murder someone."
Danish chuckled. "Oh, Zayn? You seem to be everywhere these days."
Zayn smiled—a calm, dangerous smile.
"Of course. Wherever Meher is, I have to be there, right?"
Meher straightened, surprise flashing across her face, quickly followed by irritation.
Zayn turned toward her, eyebrow raised.
"She just can't stay away from me."
Meher let out a short laugh. "Me? Want to be close to you? Not a chance."
"Of course," Zayn replied smoothly. "You cannot live without me."Meher shot back, her voice sharp:
"Right now, I just need air to breathe—and you're definitely not helping.""Yeah," he said, leaning closer, his voice dropping as he whispered near her ear, "I'm more than that."
Meher lifted her hand to her face, glaring at him.
Danish broke in. "Why did you snatch the lug wrench from my hands?"
Zayn didn't even look at him. His tone hardened as he spoke to Meher.
"Get into my car."
She blinked. "Why should I?"
"I think she doesn't want to go with you," Danish said casually. "Let me take her. She's heading to her friend's place anyway."
Zayn's eyes flicked toward him, sharp and cold.
"I can find out where that is," he said. "And please—don't interrupt us."
"I'm not going with you, Zayn," Meher said firmly. "And why should I?"
Zayn's jaw clenched. When he spoke again, his voice was cold—devoid of playfulness.
"Get into my car. Now."
Meher froze.
For the first time, fear wasn't what she felt. It was something else—something unsettling. Beneath the anger was worry. Raw and restrained.
Softly, she asked, "What about my car?"
"I'll have someone bring it to your company tomorrow," Zayn replied calmly.
Still confused, she nodded and turned to move—but Danish suddenly grabbed her hand.
"Meher, it's okay," he said. "You don't need to fear anyone."
Then, looking directly at Zayn, he added, "Sit in my car."
Zayn smirked.
He stepped forward, pried Danish's hand off Meher's wrist, and said quietly but firmly,
"Don't even dare to touch my fiancée again."
The word hit her like a shock.
Fiancée.
Meher's breath caught. Her jaw dropped as numbness spread through her veins.
Without giving her time to react, Zayn guided her to his car, opened the door, and gestured inside.
She glared at him, ready to argue, but he cut her off gently.
"Get in. We'll talk later."
She did.
Zayn turned back to Danish.
"I think I've told you before," he said evenly. "Stay away from her."
"It's up to her who stays and who leaves," Danish replied.
Zayn leaned closer.
"Do you really think," he murmured, "once she knows about you, she'll still let you stay?"
Danish fell silent.
Zayn whispered into his ear, voice low and lethal.
"Do not repeat the past—or I won't let you die peacefully, nor live."
Straightening, he added, "Consider that a warning."
Danish looked at Zayn, then at Meher sitting inside the car, watching everything. He smiled faintly.
"Do not cross the line, Zayn," he said, reaching out to adjust Zayn's collar.
Zayn grabbed his wrist and shoved it away.
"What if I do?" he said with a smirk. "Thought so."
He handed the lug wrench back.
"Here—keep this. Use it for the right purpose."
Rolling his eyes, Zayn got into the car and drove away, leaving Danish standing alone on the roadside, the night swallowing his smile.
^
To be continued...