Draped for the Devil

Draped for the Devil - 6

Morning light filtered softly through the curtains, painting golden patterns across the floor.

Zara stirred awake, her eyes fluttering open slowly. For a moment, she just lay there, her heart unusually calm. Then she turned to her side—and smiled.

Ananya was still sleeping beside her, snuggled into the blanket, softly snoring with her mouth slightly open and hair falling messily over her face.

Zara chuckled under her breath. “Crazy girl,” she whispered fondly.

A strange warmth spread through her chest—gratitude. For last night. For the comfort. For the friend who had, even without solving anything, made her feel less alone.

Zara got up from the bed quietly and made her way to the washroom. The shower washed away the weight of the night, and when she stepped out, she felt lighter.

She wore a simple pastel Patiala suit, paired with silver jhumkas and a pair of matching juttis. Her hair was left open, still damp at the ends, curling slightly at her shoulders.

She moved to Ananya’s side and gently tapped her arm. “Ananya... it’s time. We’ll be late for college. If sir sees us walking in late again, we’re finished.”

Ananya groaned, rolling over with a sleepy scowl. “Tell them I’m dying. Or sick. Or both,” she mumbled into the pillow.

Zara laughed. “Drama queen,” she said, shaking her head. “Fine. But I’m not covering for your internal marks again.”

Ananya just waved her hand and went back to sleep.

With a small smile, Zara stepped out. She grabbed breakfast from the hostel canteen, brought a plate back, and placed it on the table near Ananya’s bed.

“When you wake up, eat this. Or I’ll kill you,” she muttered playfully, even though Ananya was still snoring.

Then she left for college.

The day began like any other. The sun was bright, students bustled through the halls, and lectures resumed as usual. Slowly, the weight of yesterday began to lift. Zara got engrossed in class, jotting down notes, answering questions, even smiling at a joke her lecturer cracked.

For a while—she forgot.

Forgot about Aariz Khan. Forgot about the stage. About the stare. The fear.

But the illusion didn’t last long.

Halfway through the period, a peon knocked on the classroom door.

“Yes?” the lecturer asked.

The peon stepped in and announced, “Ma’am, principal sir asked to send Miss Zara Iqbal to his chamber. Immediately.”

The classroom fell into a hush.

The lecturer looked at Zara and gave her a slight nod. “You may go.”

Zara stood up, her movements calm, but her heart had already started racing.

Probably something about yesterday. Maybe a formal appreciation? she told herself as she walked down the corridor. A note of thanks, maybe. Or a certificate?

But the moment she neared the principal’s office and saw Akash—Aariz Khan’s personal assistant—standing near the door, her breath caught in her throat.

She didn’t know what exactly was waiting inside that room...

But she knew one thing for certain:

It wasn’t appreciation.

It was a storm.

Zara's footsteps echoed down the corridor, each step heavier than the last. Her palms were damp. Her heart pounded so loudly, she was sure others could hear it.

She reached the principal’s chamber and hesitated for a second outside the door.

Then, summoning all her courage, she knocked once—softly—and pushed the door open.

And froze.

Aariz Khan was already there, seated on the visitor’s sofa across from the principal’s desk. His posture was relaxed—one leg crossed over the other, fingers interlaced in his lap—but his eyes… his eyes were fixed on her. Cold, unreadable, and far too intense.

She swallowed hard.

Why was he here? Why now?

She tore her gaze away and turned to the principal, forcing the words out of her mouth.

“S–Sir… you called me?”

Her voice betrayed her, cracking just slightly. But she managed to stand straight, masking the tremble in her body.

The principal looked up from his desk and nodded. “Yes, Zara. Mr. Aariz Khan wanted to speak with you privately.”

Zara’s eyes widened—but before she could say anything, the principal picked up his phone from the desk, gave her a polite smile, and added, “I’ll give you both some space.”

And with that, he walked past her, stepped out of the room, and gently closed the door behind him.

The sound of the latch falling into place echoed like thunder in the sudden silence.

Zara stood there, her back to the door, her breath shallow, her thoughts spiraling.

She could feel his gaze on her—sharp and unmoving.

She was alone with him now.

And the storm had officially begun.

---