Chapter 22- I miss his company

Chapter 22

He pulled the necklace from the box, holding it up for me to see. I stood there, too stunned to react. Taking the initiative, he stepped closer and fastened it around my neck. A smile tugged at my lips as I turned toward him, catching his arm and pulling him toward my mother’s car. I retrieved the cake, suddenly self-conscious. "I should’ve gotten you something better," I muttered, ducking my head to hide my face.

He took the box from me, lifting the lid. A slow smile spread across his usually expressionless face—oh, how I’d missed that smile.

"Have a slice with me?" he asked, the faintest blush coloring his cheeks.

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "It’s your birthday… why not?"

Then he grabbed my hand, pulling me into a run toward the rooftop of his house. In that moment, as his fingers tightened around mine and he led me away from the crowded parking lot, I felt my heart soar. The wind tangled in his hair, his back straight and sure, his steps quick and eager. I ached to wrap my arms around him from behind, to beg him never to leave or hurt me again. I didn’t know what had unraveled my composure tonight—maybe the memories were too raw, the longing too sharp—but for once, I let myself be reckless. My heart ruled, my mind surrendered, and I was just a lovesick girl all over again.

He slumped onto the rooftop ledge, loosening his tie. We sliced into the cake, eating our portions between laughter, reminiscing about every clumsy mishap from birthdays past. Being away from him had only carved deeper wounds, I realized. My heart had bled more than it ever should have.

"Do you hate me?" he asked suddenly, fiddling with his tie.

The question caught me off guard. His voice—usually so confident—was frayed with something fragile: fear. I shook my head, avoiding his eyes. If I looked at him now, I’d drown in it all—the fear, the want, the *lust*.

"That’s a relief," he sighed. "As long as you don’t hate me, I can live with your anger."

Unsure how to respond, I clutched the necklace he’d given me, his jacket still draped over my shoulders, both carrying his scent. "I can’t accept this," I said quietly.

"Just keep it," he insisted. "The old Zain would’ve wanted you to."

"Old Zain?"

"The one you used to know. The one you… liked."

I exhaled. "Fine. I’ll keep it for the sake of the past." I shrugged off his jacket, handing it back.

He took it, hurt flashing in his eyes. Normally, I’d return it the next day.

"Losing your best friend hurts worse than a breakup," he said, tossing the jacket onto a nearby table. "Don’t do this to me."

As he turned to leave, he suddenly yanked me back, repeating the words against my ear. His heartbeat thundered against my chest, his gaze heavy with grief. Pain lanced through me—but then came the butterflies, wild and traitorous. I tore myself away, fleeing barefoot down the stairs, cake still in hand. I *should’ve* stayed gone.

Yet part of me wished I’d stayed.

After that night, Zain haunted my dreams. I’d lie awake, tears slipping free, aching with the certainty that I’d never truly move on. That evening had been a collision—proof his heart hadn’t changed. He remembered the little things, like the necklace I’d once admired. I missed *him*: his hugs, his stupid grin, the way I’d chase after him, fists raised in mock fury. Now, I laughed through tears at the memories.

And God, I missed him even more.

Time passed. The final term arrived, then vanished. Exams came and went; training blurred by. With Zain and Zayd absent, I prepped for the upcoming match alone. Between public appearances and polishing my image, I’d saved enough for my own bike—though Erica insisted I keep borrowing hers "for luck."

I hadn’t seen Zain since the rooftop. Not even when his mother fed me dinners while mine was away. It was like he’d finally given up.

Maybe that was for the best. That night, we’d crossed lines—shared glances, cake, confessions. Too much.

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Scene Transition (Your Second Half):

"Zayd said he’ll be here in fifteen. I’ve got class—apologize to him for me," Erica said, scooping up her notes and darting off.

True to his word, Zain arrived exactly fifteen minutes later. Punctual as ever.

"How’ve you been?" I asked, sliding Erica’s abandoned menu toward him.

"Fine. Glad the ‘love triangle’ gossip died down. At least now I get some privacy with you."

I rolled my eyes. "Why chase fame if you hate the fallout?"

"It was a dream back then. Now it feels like a sentence. Success demands sacrifice—in our case, privacy."

"Let’s get burgers," I suggested.

He smirked. "I want sticky wings."

"Not a burger person," I reminded him.

He nodded, placing our orders. Then, out of nowhere: "Nice necklace. Saw the pics of you and Zain at his party. Why wasn’t I invited?"

I stiffened. "You know why. I’m tired of explaining."

His jaw tightened. "I can’t stand seeing you two together. His jacket on you, his hands on your neck—"

"What’s your problem?" I snapped. "Those photos are a month old."

He shoved his phone at me. An article glared back, its headline screaming about a supposed "secret romance."

I barked a laugh. "You believe this?"

"I don’t know what to believe."

"If we were together, wouldn’t I be with him at school? Besides, I’m not interested."

He studied me. "I’ll take your word for it. But this ‘inside source’ killed the love triangle rumors during exams—and my fans who actually like you? They’re pissed."

I groaned. "At least you got some peace."

When will people stop twisting everything?