Chapter 31- Beauty standard...

Chapter 31-Beauty standard

Erica’s textbook snapped shut like a judge’s gavel. "So. Heard from Zayd lately?"

I chucked a bag of peanuts at her chest—harder than necessary.

"Miss him today," she mused, peeling the wrapper with her teeth.

I missed him in the squeak of leather jackets at the mall. In petrol stations that still smelled like his motorcycle grease. In every goddamn traffic light that gave me too much time to think.

"Earth to Qadira?" Erica waved a hand between my eyes. "Guess that’s a no—"

"I do." The words escaped before I could cage them.

Her eyebrows vanished into her bangs. "Damn. Didn’t ask for an autopsy report."

"Drop it."

"Done." She whistled to Yumna, bent over her canvas like a surgeon. "Speed-paint! Arcade’s waiting!"

I flicked Erica’s forehead. "SNU’s art program eats hopefuls alive. Let her work."

"What about your applications?"

I tapped my temple. "All up here."

"Right, genius brain." She snorted. "Unless Zain steals your spot again."

My fist hit the table. Pens jumped. "He won’t."

"They only take one candidate, Q. And last I checked—"

"Two. Years. Erica." My nails bit crescent moons into my palms.

Raees exploded into the room, phone brandished like a trophy. "We’re officially a celebrity petting zoo! Layla’s starring with Zain!"

My eye roll nearly detached a retina. "Her humblebrags have been clogging my feed for weeks."

Erica’s grin turned feral. "Why so jealous?"

Raees gasped. "Thought you hated him!"

"I do," I growled. "Next topic."

"Then why’s your face matching your hair clips?" He poked my flaming cheek.

Yumna didn’t glance up from her brushstrokes. "She’s obviously into Zayd."

"Excuse me?!"

Erica smirked. "Actually… that tracks."

"New subject." My chair screeched. "I’m considering modeling again."

Yumna jabbed my stomach. "Acne. Muffin top. Hard pass."

"I can fix both!"

Raees leaned in. "Or are you just level-grinding for Zain’s league?"

My fingers twitched toward his windpipe—

The door burst open.

Him.

The room erupted in "Ooooh"s. I stomped Erica’s foot and stood.

Zain hovered in the doorway, scratching his neck like he used to before apologizing for stealing my Gogurt at seven years old. "Qadira. The Layla headlines are fake." A pause. "Just… wanted you to know."

Then he vanished.

Erica clutched her chest. "juuust wanted you to knoooow~"

I was already in the hall when—

Perfume. Overpriced and suffocating.

Layla materialized, her smile a scalpel. "Aw. You do follow me."

"Your point?" I sidestepped.

"Tried my new skincare line?" She fluttered spider-leg lashes. "Oh wait—you’d need *industrial* strength for that texture."

I eyed her caked foundation. "Funny. I was thinking you should save some for that crumbling personality."

Her smirk cracked at the edges.

Zain appeared beside me, hands jammed in pockets. "Bullying the school’s princess?"

I fluffed my hair aggressively. "You two can *rot* in a crater together."

His grin faltered. "Qadira. Are you—"

"Don’t." My voice cracked. "I don’t need a runway to be beautiful. Or clear skin. Or a stupid waistline to matter."

"You’ve always been perfect to me."

"Liar." I shoved past him. "Your world’s full of actual goddesses. Save the pity."

---

My car smelled like Doritos and defeat.

I hurled the empty bag. The rearview mirror showed a stranger—softer edges, sharper eyes. This is healthier, I’d told myself when I quit modeling. But the girl staring back still had hungry eyes.

Knock-knock-knock.

Zain’s face pressed against the glass, distorted and ridiculous. "Posting the avocado pics in three… two…"

I rolled down the window. "You’re the worst."

"But you’re stuck with me." His grin died when he saw my smudged mascara. "Hey. Talk to me."

The confession spilled like overturned ink: "I used to know exactly who I was. Now I just feel… lost."

He reached through the window, thumb brushing a tear I hadn’t felt escape. "Maybe you’re not lost." His voice was sun-warmed pavement. "Maybe you’re finally found."

I launched into him, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

"Can’t… breathe…" he wheezed—but his arms tightened anyway.

And for the first time in months, my skin didn’t feel like a warzone.