By the time I manage to pull myself together and change into some fresh clothes, the apartment is filled with the comforting aroma of coffee and something warm that reminds me of home. Butter.
I follow the scent to the kitchen, and there's Kairo, completely in his element. He's standing by the stove, flipping pancakes with a concentration that makes my heart skip a beat. He looks so normal like this, making breakfast in a kitchen rather than sitting in a stuffy office or some posh meeting room. It makes me wonder if he could fit into this life with me.
But I quickly shake that thought away. It's dangerous to think like that, and I know it's stupid.
Kairo notices me lingering in the doorway, tilting his head slightly. "Sit," he says, still focused on what he's doing.
I feel awkward, standing there. It's like I'm hyper-aware of everything, the brightly colored flowers in the other room, the way the sunlight hits his face and makes him look even more handsome, the rhythmic sound of the spatula hitting the pan.
A few minutes later, he slides a plate of pancakes toward me. They look so fluffy and golden, perfectly cooked, and he even adds a bowl of strawberries on the side.
I stare at it, surprised. "Didn't know you could cook," I say.
He shrugs as he settles across from me. "Survival skills," he replies coolly.
I pick up my fork and poke at a piece of pancake, trying to shake off the unnerving silence that's settled over us. I don't want to look at him too much; it makes my heart race for no good reason.
We eat quietly for a while. The clinking of our utensils fills the space like an uneasy reminder that we're not just two casual friends. It's not an awful silence, but it's not exactly the norm either.
Every time I happen to glance at him, he seems to be staring right back at me. He doesn't smile or frown; he's just… watching. It feels like he's trying to figure me out, and that makes me nervous.
When I finally finish eating, I push my plate away and dab my mouth with a napkin, trying to pretend I'm not aware of how intently he's looking at me.
"You're late," he says casually as he checks his watch again.
I narrow my eyes. "It's your fault. You're the one who distracted me with flowers and pancakes."
For a brief moment, I see something change in his expression. It's like the tough exterior cracks just a little, giving way to something softer.
He leans back, arms crossed over his broad chest. "You're not as good at pretending as you think."
Suddenly, the air feels charged.
I jump up, grabbing my plate and taking it to the sink. I need to do something to break this overwhelming tension. As I turn on the tap, the water drowns out the sound of his voice behind me.
"You liked the roses," he states flatly, not even phrasing it as a question.
I rinse the plate and set it aside, turning to face him, drying my hands on a towel.
"Yes," I admit, my voice shaky. Lying feels like an impossible task right now.
Kairo stands up slowly, pushing his chair back. He crosses the kitchen in just a few long strides and stops barely inches away from me.
I tilt my chin up, heart racing in my chest. The space between us feels charged with an energy I can't control.
"This isn't part of the deal, Zara," he says, his voice low and rough. His hand inches up as if he's going to touch me, but just before he does, he clenches it into a fist and lets it drop to his side.
"And what deal is that?" I manage to whisper, my voice thin and barely audible.
He gives me a small smile, but it looks fragile. "The one where I don't fall for you."
His words hit me hard, almost physically.
I freeze up, unable to move or breathe as I just stare up at him, feeling like the world around us has turned sideways.
Then he reaches out, taking my wrist gently and pulling me closer. I nearly stumbled into him, my hands instinctively landing on his solid chest.
His other hand brushes the side of my face, thumb grazing my lips in a way that feels so gentle, like he thinks I might shatter if he holds me too tightly.
I catch my breath, lips parting.
His mouth lowers, getting so close to mine, too close...
Panic surges through me.
I jerk back, breaking the contact and stumbling a few steps away from him.
"This wasn't part of the deal," I blurt out, my voice quavering. I can't even bring myself to meet his gaze right now.
Kairo's hands drop to his sides, and he doesn't move closer. He just stands there, looking at me with something raw simmering in his eyes.
"No," he replies quietly. "It wasn't."
The silence stretches thin between us, like a rubber band ready to snap.
Then, without saying anything else, he turns and heads for the door, grabbing his jacket before leaving.
"Five minutes," he says over his shoulder, not looking back. "I'll be waiting downstairs."
And just like that, he's gone, and I'm left standing in the kitchen, trembling as I try to understand when everything shifted and why I feel so scared of whatever might happen next.