They didn't mean to fight.
It started with a simple question.
"Did you call your mom back?" Malik asked, gently.
Zara stiffened. "Not yet."
Malik paused. "It's been a week."
"I know."
He waited. She didn't elaborate.
"You're avoiding her," he said.
"I'm protecting myself."
Malik stood, pacing. "And what about me? Are you protecting me too—or just keeping me out of the fallout?"
Zara's voice rose. "You don't understand what it's like. She raised me to be perfect. To be obedient. To be everything I'm not when I'm with you."
Malik stopped. "So I make you imperfect?"
"No," she whispered. "You make me honest. And that terrifies her."
He sat down, slowly. "And does it terrify you?"
Zara didn't answer.
The silence between them was no longer quiet—it was sharp, jagged.
"I don't want to be something you have to defend," Malik said. "I want to be something you choose."
"I did choose you," she said. "But I didn't choose this mess."
Malik's eyes darkened. "Then maybe we need space. To figure out what we're really choosing."
Zara's breath caught. "Are you saying we should break up?"
"I'm saying I don't want to be the reason you lose everything."
She stood, heart pounding. "And I don't want to lose you."
They stared at each other—two people in love, drowning in fear.
"I need time," she said.
Malik nodded. "Take it."
She left his apartment without looking back.
And for the first time since the kiss, they were truly apart.