Alina’s pov
“Who are you?” my mother snapped, her voice rising with anger. She stepped forward, her eyes narrowing into slits. “Who are you?!” she shouted this time, her voice echoing through the house.
My throat went dry. “He… he is Zayn. My neighbor’s son,” I stammered, forcing the words out too quickly.
Her glare shifted back to me, sharp enough to cut. “What is he doing in your house?” she demanded, her voice dripping with irritation. “Why do you have a man in your house, Alina?!”
Her yell tore through me, loud and accusing, filling every corner of the space until it felt hard to breathe.
“Mom, that’s enough,” I said, my voice colder than I intended. “I told you—he’s my neighbor’s son. He only came to pick something up, that’s it.” I willed myself to sound detached, hoping she’d t
