The bite between us

New friend

chapter 13

Zainab pov

It happens by accident.

I’m in the break room, staring at my tea like it might explain my life to me, when someone drops into the chair across from me without asking.

“You look like you’re fighting demons,” she says cheerfully. “Or men. Or demon men.”

I blink, startled.

She’s smiling—wide, unapologetic, the kind of smile that doesn’t ask permission to exist. Her braids are pulled up into a messy bun, and she smells faintly like citrus and confidence.

“I—what?” I manage.

She grins. “Kidding. Mostly. I’m Amina.”

“Zainab,” I reply automatically.

“Nice to finally meet you, Zainab-who-always-looks-like-she’s-about-to-run-away-but-never-does.”

I choke on a laugh before I can stop myself. It bursts out of me, sudden and loud, and for a second I just sit there—surprised by the sound of my own joy.

Amina beams like she’s won something.

“See?” she says. “You laugh. That’s good. Means you’re still alive.”

I shake my head. “You always talk to strangers like this?”

“Only the quiet ones,” she replies. “They’re usually the most interesting.”

Something in my chest loosens.

We talk. About nothing important at first—work complaints, bad coffee, managers who love meetings too much. She fills the silence easily, but not in a way that overwhelms me. When I go quiet, she doesn’t rush to fill it. She just… stays.

At some point, she tilts her head and studies me.

“You’re new to this place, aren’t you?” she asks.

“New-ish.”

“Mmm,” she hums. “You carry yourself like someone who doesn’t feel settled yet.”

I stiffen slightly. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only if you know what to look for,” she says gently. “Don’t worry. You’ll find your footing. Or we’ll build you some.”

We.

The word lands warm.

Later, when Rowan passes the break room and the familiar tension coils in my stomach, I don’t spiral like usual. I still feel it—sharp, confusing—but Amina nudges my foot lightly under the table.

“Breathe,” she whispers. “You’re doing great.”

I don’t even question how she knows.

By the end of the day, we’re walking out together, talking about lunch plans and weekend nonsense, and for the first time in days, I realize something important.

I feel… normal.

Not watched.

Not pulled.

Not held together by invisible hands.

Just a girl making a friend at work.

And somewhere deep inside me, something ancient stirs—uneasy, wary—

Because this kind of connection?

It’s not part of any plan.