The storm had passed, but its echo still lingered in Elena's chest. Not the weather—but the one that raged behind Zayn's eyes, the one she could finally name: fear. Not of loss, but of softness. Of vulnerability. Of her.
She had kissed him, handed him her terms, and he'd said yes.
But what did a yes mean from a man who had learned to weaponize every part of himself?
One Week Later
Elena found herself back in her studio apartment. The kind of place that hummed with solitude and cheap coffee. Ava had offered her the guest room again, but Elena declined.
She needed space—not to escape Zayn, but to reclaim herself.
She painted. She ignored calls. She walked until her legs burned. And when Zayn texted, she responded.
Not always. But more than before.
Zayn:Still breathing?
Elena:Barely. You?
Zayn:Drowning in boardrooms. But I'd rather drown in your silence.
Elena:Then stop chasing storms.
Zayn:I'm chasing you.
Flashback – Elena at Twelve
Her mother had been a force: bold lipstick, bolder opinions. A woman who drank her coffee black and her men with conditions.
"Don't let anyone rewrite your worth, baby girl," she had said once. "They'll try to offer love as if it's currency. Take it only if it doesn't cost your fire."
That fire still lived inside Elena. But Zayn had nearly extinguished it without meaning to.
Zayn – Boardroom, Present Day
"Sir, if we push this partnership—"
"We won't."
"But the returns—"
"I said no. We're done building relationships with companies that bury workers under numbers."
His assistant looked stunned. Zayn didn't care.
Elena hadn't demanded he change.
But she'd made him want to.
Later That Night – Her Apartment
A knock. Not a call.
Zayn.
He stood in the hallway with a paper bag. "I brought soup. You probably haven't eaten."
"Soup won't fix us."
"No. But I thought it might be a start."
They sat on the floor.
No table. No rules. Just them and two bowls of lentil soup.
"You look tired," she said.
"I feel tired. Tired of pretending the world doesn't affect me."
"Maybe stop pretending."
He smiled sadly. "You say that like it's easy."
"I never said it was. I just say it's worth it."
Flashback – Zayn at Twenty-One
His father's funeral had been a masquerade.
Men in tailored suits whispering legacy.
Women in veils whispering scandal.
Zayn had stood by the casket thinking only one thing:
This is what power buys. Emptiness with a perfect finish.
He didn't cry.
He didn't know how.
Back to Present – Elena's Apartment, Midnight
They sat in silence for a while. She played with the thread on her sleeve. He watched the street lights flicker through the window.
"I'm afraid of loving you wrong," he said finally.
"Then love me honestly. Even if it's messy."
"I don't know how."
"Start by not lying to yourself."
He exhaled. "I think about you every hour. Even when I don't want to. Especially when I don't want to."
Elena's chest tightened. "Then stop thinking. Show me."
Zayn leaned in, forehead against hers.
"I want a life where I don't flinch every time someone gets close. I want a life where I don't lose you."
She whispered, "Then build it. Brick by broken brick. With me."
The Next Morning
They woke tangled. Not in passion, but in peace.
Elena made coffee.
Zayn kissed her shoulder.
"What happens now?" she asked.
"Now? We become the people we pretended to be before we broke."
Later – Elena's Studio
She painted again.
Not shadows. Not pain.
This time, she painted a sunrise.
Zayn watched from the doorway, eyes soft.
"That's new," he said.
"It's us. The version we never gave a chance."