Chapter 6: The Night She Stayed
452 Words
Rain began falling just after midnight—slow at first, then heavy like the sky couldn’t hold back anymore.
Zariah was still on the garage roof, curled beneath Malik’s hoodie. She should have gone home hours ago. Her phone buzzed with texts from her father’s assistant, her fiancé, and a dozen PR alerts.
She ignored them all.
“I should go,” she murmured.
Malik looked at her, his face unreadable in the dim city glow. “Then why haven’t you?”
She hesitated. “Because here… it feels like I can breathe.”
Malik leaned back on his elbows. “That’s dangerous.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll start wanting more of it.”
Zariah looked up at the grey sky. “Maybe I do.”
Downstairs, the garage hummed with silence. Malik offered her an old towel, and they dried off together, laughing at their soaked clothes.
“I can take the couch,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
She raised a brow. “You think I haven’t shared a bed before?”
“This isn’t your world, Zariah.”
“I’m not asking for the world. Just a place to sleep.”
Malik didn’t answer, just stepped aside and let her pass into the tiny room with the rumpled bed and faded sheets.
She climbed in, curling against the wall.
He lay down beside her, tense at first. Then, slowly, he relaxed.
The night was quiet.
Their backs didn’t touch, but the space between them pulsed with unspoken tension. Zariah stared at the ceiling, eyes wide open.
“Can I ask you something?” she whispered.
“Yeah.”
“Why haven’t you kissed me?”
Malik exhaled slowly. “Because if I do, I won’t stop.”
Zariah turned her head, her voice a thread. “And if I don’t want you to stop?”
He looked at her—really looked at her. Her vulnerability. Her defiance. Her loneliness wrapped in diamonds and attitude.
He reached for her, brushing a strand of wet hair from her cheek.
Their lips met—soft, searching.
The kiss wasn’t fire. It was slow rain on dry soil. It was aching.
It was real.
They didn’t make love. Not that night.
But they didn’t sleep, either.
They talked. About music, fears, places they’d never been. She confessed how suffocating her life felt. He told her about the stars he used to trace in broken pavement as a kid.
She never once asked him who he used to be.
And he never told her.
By dawn, she was asleep in his arms.
And for the first time in years, Malik didn’t dream of escape.
He dreamed of her
- Writer
