12th December, 2018

The next day dawned with sunshine, noisy birds, and a heart that couldn't sit still inside Eram's chest.

She checked the clock for the fifth time in three minutes, fluffed her hair again, then promptly cursed herself for trying too hard.

"It's just coffee," she muttered to her mirror. "With a guy who may or may not destroy you emotionally when he finds out the truth. Totally casual."

Her phone buzzed.

Shumail: Outside. And five minutes early. Because that's the kind of romantic hero I am.

She smiled despite herself. She wrapped her hijab around her head in her go-to style and grabbed her bag.

The coffee shop was one of those cozy little places tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop—where the cappuccinos were overpriced, the lighting was warm, and the playlist had suspiciously good taste in sad love songs.

They settled into a corner table by the window. The kind of seat where the world could pass them by unnoticed.

"Alright," Shumail said, glancing at her over the top of his menu, "before we get into anything serious, I need to know something crucial."

Eram raised an eyebrow. "Okay?"

He leaned in conspiratorially. "Do you judge people based on their coffee order?"

She blinked. "Depends. Are you about to say you drink decaf?"

"Worse." He sighed. "Hazelnut latte. Extra syrup. No shame."

Eram gasped. "You sugary monster."

"Oh come on! It's comforting. Like a hug in a mug."

"It's diabetes in disguise."

"Jealousy," he said smoothly, "because you're too proud to admit vanilla is basic."

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. "Touché."

They placed their orders—Eram going for her usual cold brew, and Shumail, true to his word, ordered the sugariest latte known to mankind.

"So," he said after a beat. "This is the part where we talk about the... thing."

"The thing," Eram echoed, stirring her straw.

"Yeah, the thing." He tapped his fingers on the table. "The terrifying, heart-palpitating, emotionally-confusing not-just-friendship thing."

She gave him a sideways glance. "You're surprisingly eloquent for someone who called me a drama queen two days ago."

"I contain multitudes," he said, wiggling his eyebrows. "And caffeine helps."

They both fell silent, watching as the barista placed their drinks on the counter.

Eram picked at the sleeve of her cup. "I meant what I said last night, you know. I really don't know what this is. But it's something."

"I know," Shumail said. "And honestly, same."

"I didn't expect it to be you," she confessed softly.

"That's funny. I always kind of hoped it would be you," he replied, his tone light, but there was a depth in his eyes that tugged at her chest.

She swallowed. "It's not fair, though."

He frowned. "What isn't?"

"You don't know everything."

Shumail sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"

Eram hesitated, panic pricking her spine. She almost said it. Almost. But then his smile distracted her—so soft, so trusting—and her courage crumbled.

"I mean," she covered quickly, "you don't know how many times I've replayed that dumb prank you pulled with the ketchup packet exploding in my purse. I still find red specks in my wallet."

He laughed, relieved. "Ah yes. My finest hour."

"You're a menace."

"You love it."

A small pause followed, filled with unsaid things.

He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against hers.

"No pressure, Eram," he said gently. "We don't have to figure everything out today. But I want to keep showing up. Coffee, laughter, stolen ketchup packets. Whatever this becomes—I'm in."

Her throat tightened. She nodded.

"Okay."

"Okay?" he grinned. "That's it?"

"Don't push it," she teased. "I'm emotionally fragile and extremely caffeine dependent."

They laughed, the sound soft and healing, as the world outside the window blurred into motion.

Meanwhile...

A figure watched from a car parked across the street.

The camera clicked silently, capturing a frame of Eram and Shumail smiling inside the café.

The figure's phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: She's getting too close. Remind her what's at stake.

The reply was swift.

*On it.

The camera zoomed in again.

Click.

The photo of the two, laughing, was sent with a single caption:

Tick Tock.

***

As Eram laughed at one of his outrageous claims about inventing the concept of "emotional caffeine," Shumail's smile flickered—for just a second.

He didn't say anything right away. Just leaned back casually, resting his arm along the top of the booth as if the world hadn't just shifted slightly.

He slid his phone from his pocket, unlocking it one-handed. Eram was too busy savoring her cold brew and accusing him of being the "human equivalent of glitter—annoying but oddly charming."

A sly smirk tugged at his lips as his fingers moved swiftly over the screen, typing a message with calculated precision. Every tap echoed with urgency, yet on the surface, he look calm- just another guy casually texting.

"Earth to Shumail," Eram said, waving a straw wrapper near his face. "Are you zoning out or mentally arguing with your coffee again?"

He looked back at her, and the smile returned—effortless, charming.

"Neither," he said. "I was just wondering how someone so small drinks coffee like she's preparing for war."

"It's a survival tactic. You try living in my head without caffeine."

"Oh, I imagine it's chaos in there. Glitter, rom-com quotes, and emotional debates with ceiling fans."

She laughed again, completely unaware of the chill running beneath his calm.

He took another sip of his overly sweet latte, his eyes flicked to the window again. 

He sat there, sipping from his cup, letting the warmth settle in his chest while his mind worked like a well-oiled machine.

Across from him, Eram was still speaking—something about her coworker's meltdown.

He nodded along. Smiled at the right moments. Chuckled when she paused for effect. 

"Hey," he said suddenly, cutting across her monologue about toddler terrorism.

Eram blinked. "Hmm?"

"You okay?"

She gave him a look. "I was about to ask you that."

He tilted his head, trying not to make it too obvious. "You seem... different today. A little... distant, maybe?"

That hit too close. He saw it. The flicker behind her eyes. A fraction of a second. But she smiled through it—quick, radiant, and way too rehearsed.

"Just tired," she replied. "Didn't sleep much last night."

He nodded, slow and thoughtful. "Dreams?"

"Nightmares, actually," she said before she could stop herself.

"About?"

She hesitated. "Nothing important."

He didn't press. He could've. He wanted to. But he didn’t. 

So instead, he leaned back in his chair and gave her a lopsided grin. "Well, let's hope they weren't about me. I'd hate to be the villain in your story."

She laughed, grateful for the shift in tone. "No, you're not the villain. More like the chaotic sidekick who breaks things and accidentally solves the case."

"I'll take it. Chaos is a brand."

They chatted for another half hour. Shared a croissant. Bickered over the correct ratio of milk to coffee. He let her steal the last bite.

As they got up to leave, Shumail held the door open like he was auditioning for the role of "Overly Dramatic Gentleman #1."

"After you, Miss Azam. May your steps be graceful and your caffeine cravings forever satisfied."

Eram narrowed her eyes. "Do you practice these lines in front of the mirror?"

"Absolutely. Some people rehearse TED Talks. I rehearse for emotionally fragile coffee dates."

She chuckled, walking past him. "Emotionally fragile? Speak for yourself, Hazelnut."

"That's Captain Hazelnut, thank you very much."

They strolled down the street, side by side, trading mock insults and exaggerated opinions about sunflower aesthetics, the criminal overpricing of croissants, and whether or not Shumail should be allowed to own socks with cartoon avocados on them.

"Seriously," Eram said, wrinkling her nose, "you wore those in public?"

They had reached the parking lot and he led her to his car. "Mock all you want but they're charming. You're just bitter because your socks don't have personalities."

"They don't need personalities. They're functional."

"Exactly. Boring."

"You're boring."

"You love it."

She didn't respond right away. Just smiled and looked ahead, heart unexpectedly light.

By the time they pulled up outside her house, the sky was turning that soft lavender-blue, and the street was quiet.

He turned to her as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "So, do I get a gold star for dropping you home without running a single red light?"

She smirked. "You get half a star. You did threaten to race a cyclist at one point."

"It was taunting me. The eye contact was intense."

Eram rolled her eyes but smiled. "Thanks for the coffee. And the ride. And the... questionable playlist."

"Anytime," he said, leaning back in his seat. "Just don't ghost me again, okay?"

She hesitated for half a second, then nodded. "Okay."

"Promise?"

"No."

He laughed. "Fair enough."

She opened the door, stepped out, then leaned down slightly. "Drive safe, Captain Hazelnut."

"Always, Cold Brew Queen."

And with that, she closed the door, waving as he pulled away with a dramatic honk that made a passing cat leap three feet in the air.

Once inside her room, Eram flopped onto her bed, pulling out her phone.

A few notifications. A meme from her friend. A spam message.

And then—

Her heart stuttered.

Unknown Number:

Tick tock.

The photo of them together, laughing—was attached beneath the message.

She sat up sharply, thumb hovering over the screen.

Her pulse thudded. Her mind ran in every direction.

She stared at the message for what felt like hours.

Her fingers moved to Shumail's chat.

Typed: Thanks for today. You make things easier.

Then, after a moment, she added another line.

I wish I could tell you everything.

Her thumb paused over "send."

She deleted the second line. Sent only the first.

Then locked the phone and set it face down on her pillow.

The room was silent, but her thoughts weren't.

She had smiled today. She had let herself feel safe—for a few precious hours. But that message was a reminder: some truths don't stay buried.

Not forever.

And love—whatever this was becoming—might just be one more thing she wasn't allowed to have.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Salam guys!

Wow Shumail and Eram are married!

How was the chapter? Comment down below and let me know!

Also what do you think will happen next? *raising my eyebrows with an evil smirk*

Untill next time...Zàijiàn