"I think you should stop being so mean to me, Zahed."
"Why would I ever do that?"
Aryan grins, a bright, wicked thing.
"Because I kiss you like this."
•
Mira Zahed and Aryan Shankar are at war.
When her best friend and his cousin decide to fall in...
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♥ ♥ ♥
ZAHED LOOKS SURPRISED TO SEE ME. And truth be told, I have no idea how I ended up here.
But my hands on the wheel, the night flashing past me, and her words, as they had been for the past week, replaying in my ears was enough to bring me here.
We arrive at her gate at nearly the same time. I'm only parked for a minute or so, enough time to climb out of Kenna's car, inhale the nighttime Calabasas air and think about what the actual fuck I was doing here. I feel like someone's doused me in cold water.
Giselle is a faint memory. The anger is a faint memory. All I'm left with really is the strong urge to prove her wrong.
I didn't know she wasn't at home until her car hums up the street. I see her behind the wheel, behind the tinted glass, eyes narrowing at me, squinting like she wasn't sure she was seeing properly. She doesn't lower the glass as she approaches, doesn't try to talk to me. She simply drives past me, her gate sliding open as she pushed the button on her key that had gotten us in so much trouble, and then she's gone.
For a moment, I stand still on the street.
Is that it?
Should I enrol us both into fucking kindergarten right now?
But that's not her style. She would've closed the gate right in my face and made sure I felt the burn. The gate is still open. I stare at it for a moment, expecting it to shut any moment now. It doesn't.
Before my mind convinces me that maybe Mira Zahed is simply having trouble with her remote, I click Kenna's doors shut and start walking up her driveway.
She's waiting for me.
Standing on the little cobblestone area in front of her door, Mira looks at me, eyes narrowed and guarded upon my approaching figure, her back leaned against her car door. In her hand, she has one of those recyclable drink holders with one cup of— I squint— soft serve topped with Oreo cookie crumbs.
"Is ice cream your solution to everything, Zahed?" comes my greeted reply as I halt a good foot away from her.
There's no humour in the crooked smile she throws me. It's more like a grimace, honestly.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" She asks and doesn't move an inch.
I feel her eyes rake over me, from my messy hair to the rumpled collar of my shirt. They narrow.
