Chapter 30- Will you stop provoking me?

Chapter 30: "Will You Stop Provoking Me?"

The bathroom door slammed open, steam curling out behind Qadira as she towel-dried her hair. "I'm done. Your turn."

I tossed a popcorn kernel at her. "Already showered before you interrupted me."

"Tomorrow's Saturday." She flopped onto the couch, sending my math notes flying. "You art kids have no school."

"I know, but still—"

"Zain." Her voice hitched. She wouldn't meet my eyes. "Can you... put on a hoodie? A really baggy one?"

The unspoken plea made my chest tighten. I yanked one from the laundry pile, drowning myself in fabric. "Did I make you uncomfortable?"

Silence. She just burrowed into the sofa blanket like a turtle retreating into its shell. "Movie night," she declared. "Horror."

"Comedy," I countered, snatching the remote before she could. "Last time you screamed during a *trailer*."

Her middle finger jabbed the air. I retaliated by wrapping us both in fleece and queuing our childhood favorite—the one we'd acted out scene-for-scene at twelve, complete with her terrible British accent.

For two hours, she was that girl again: messy bun bouncing as she reenacted dialogues, bony elbows jabbing my ribs with every punchline. The bruises would linger, but so would this feeling—like my ribs were too small for whatever kept expanding behind them.

"Hello? Earth to Zain!" Her fist connected with my shoulder.

"Ow! What is wrong with you?"

"Or what?" She rolled up her sleeves, challenge flashing in her eyes.

I lunged, pinning her wrists as the popcorn bowl clattered to the floor. "Try me."

Her breath hitched. My pulse roared in my ears—

Buzz.

My phone lit up on the coffee table. Qadira wriggled free, cheeks flushed as she stuffed popcorn in her mouth like her life depended on it. The moment shattered.

---

We woke to a symphony of disaster: sore necks, a thousand missed calls, and security pounding on the door.

Qadira stumbled to answer it, hair defying gravity. The guards shoved past her, scanning the apartment for... what? A crime scene?

Mom stormed in, heels sharp enough to draw blood. "What exactly happened last night?"

Qadira blinked. "We watched Paddington 2 and passed out. Why are you awake at dawn?"

"My son ignores fifty calls, and you expect me to sleep?" Mom's glare could've melted steel. "Get dressed. You're late for set."

"But Qadira—"

"She's not your responsibility."

The words stung. Qadira stepped between us, small but immovable. "I'm fine. Go."

Mom's laugh was ice. "Touching. But I'd cancel this film before leaving you two alone again."

"Mom—"

"Zain." Qadira's voice cracked like a whip. "She's your *mother*. Stop being a brat."

The quiet that followed was heavier than any scream.

---

Qadira's POV

Aunty Hyejin lingered after Zain left, fingers tracing the edge of his abandoned hoodie. "We need to talk."

I braced myself. "Shoot."

"Your mother insists you two aren't dating." Her sigh was more relief than I deserved. "But then why...?"

"Why *what*?"

"You're *blind*." She massaged her temples. "That boy looks at you like you hung the moon, and you—"

"*What*?" The Nutella jar slipped from my grip. "We're just—"

"—friends. Yes." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "How... reassuring."

The lie curdled in my stomach.

---

Dinner Disaster

Zain returned to find me plating curry. "Is this edible? Or should I call an exorcist?"

"Go eat with Layla then," I snapped.

His grin was infuriating. "Jealous?"

I stabbed my fork into his stolen chicken. He retaliated by tackling me onto the couch—right as our mothers walked in.

Vegetables hit the floor. Mom's voice could've frozen hell. "Essay. Now."

Zain's whine was muffled by the cushion I'd smothered him with. "She started it!"

---

Later, grounded and seething, I stole the last piece of his dessert under the table.

"I hope you get so fat you can't fit through doors," he hissed.

I grinned, licking caramel off my fingers. Proof we were just friends? Please.

Friends don't memorize each other's breathing patterns.

Or ache like this.