If I could describe that period with Zain in one word, it would be soft. Everything about us felt easy, almost like breathing — simple, natural, and a little bit addicting.
After our project ended, we still found reasons to talk. Random texts, shared memes, voice notes about nothing and everything. I didn't realize when it stopped being about school and became about us.
One Friday evening, he asked if I wanted to grab dinner. Not the casual cafeteria type — he said, "I'm talking real food, not fries that taste like heartbreak."
I laughed and said yes, and just like that, we had our first official date.
I stood in front of my mirror that night, trying on my fifth outfit in twenty minutes. My roommate, Kara, was sprawled on her bed watching me with a grin.
"Why are you nervous?" she teased. "He already likes you."
"I know," I said, adjusting my top. "That's the problem. I don't want to mess it up."
Zain showed up right on time. White shirt, dark jeans, and that faint cologne I was beginning to associate with comfort. When he saw me, he paused for a moment — just a second too long — and smiled.
"Wow," he said softly. "You look… incredible."
My stomach did that annoying flip thing again. "You clean up nice yourself."
He chuckled. "I do try."
The restaurant wasn't fancy, but it was cozy — low lights, wooden tables, soft music humming in the background. We sat near the window, the city lights spilling across the table like little stars.
"Order whatever you want," he said, handing me the menu. "You've earned it after surviving Professor Lloyd's class."
I laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "You make it sound like a war."
"It was," he said. "And we came out alive. Barely."
Dinner was perfect. We talked for hours, sharing stories that somehow felt easier to tell in the glow of candlelight. I told him about how I loved reading romance novels but could never finish writing one. He told me he used to play guitar before college swallowed his free time.
At some point, I realized I hadn't checked my phone in over two hours. He had this way of making me forget the world outside the moment.
When we finished eating, he refused to let me pay my share. "You can get dessert next time," he said.
"There's going to be a next time?" I asked, smiling.
He leaned back, eyes glinting. "You think I'm letting you go after this?"
I laughed, shaking my head. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously charming," he corrected.
We left the restaurant, and the night air was cool, the kind that nipped softly at your skin. He walked beside me, hands in his pockets, matching his steps to mine. At the crosswalk, our hands brushed — once, twice — before he finally intertwined his fingers with mine.
It was such a small gesture, but my heart still did that stupid flutter thing.
He walked me back to my dorm again, and when we got to the entrance, he hesitated. "So… did I earn another date?"
"You did," I said.
He grinned. "Good. Because I've already planned it in my head."
Zain kept his word. Over the next few weeks, he became a constant — texts in the morning, calls at night, random snacks dropped off during study sessions. Once, he showed up with bubble tea because I'd mentioned craving it days before.
"You remembered?" I asked.
He shrugged. "You said it like it was life or death."
"It was," I said, laughing. "And you just saved me."
He smiled, eyes soft. "Then I guess I'm your hero."
And maybe, in that moment, he was.
We started spending more time together — late-night walks across campus, sitting under the old oak tree near the fountain, sharing stories about childhood and dreams we hadn't dared to chase. He'd sometimes play songs on his phone, and we'd listen in silence. It wasn't the grand, sweeping kind of romance, but it felt real. It felt safe.
One evening, while studying in my dorm, he lay across my bed, pretending to help but really just scrolling through my notes.
"You're not even reading," I said, laughing.
"I'm absorbing through osmosis," he replied. "It's a new technique."
I tossed a pen at him, and he caught it mid-air, smug. "See? Reflexes sharp from all this studying."
"Yeah, right," I said, shaking my head. "You're impossible."
He grinned, leaning over. "But you like me impossible."
I did. And I hated that I did.
He kissed my forehead before leaving that night, and for a second, I felt it — that quiet kind of happiness that makes you forget how badly you've been hurt before.
Maybe this one's different, I thought. Maybe Zain's the one who won't make me question my worth.
I didn't know I was already in too deep.
Because that's the thing about beginnings — they're always wrapped in warmth and laughter.
It's only later that you notice the cracks.
But for now, everything felt perfect.
And for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to believe that maybe — just maybe — love wasn't always supposed to hurt.