Zayn’s pov
Our lips met and something cold slammed into me — not the warmth I expected, but a shock. I shoved her back so hard she stumbled. “What the hell is wrong with you?” My voice snapped, all heat and edges.
She blinked, eyes wet. “Why? Can’t I kiss you again? I love you, Zayn. I don’t know why you won’t see it.” Her voice broke and the words landed like knives. My fists curled at my sides.
Footsteps. Alina’s voice cut through the room, soft at first, then sharper. My stomach dropped. Did she see? Please, no.
I turned toward her and forced a smile that tasted like ash. “Alina.” I took a step, hand reaching for hers, but she jerked away as if burned. Her face had gone hard, closed off. “We should go home,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Come on.”
She didn’t move. I open
