After cursing Alonzo's name in front of the mirror for half an hour, I finally decide to get ready for the club.

I'm in the closet halfway through my makeup, when a knock jolts me out of my daydream.

It must be Ella. I asked her earlier to help me tie the dress strings.

"Come in," I call out, still facing the mirror. "I'm almost ready, just tie the strings and tell me which lipstick would go with my dress."

I whirl around, only to see Alonzo standing in the doorway, his gaze fixed on me- on my dress with an expression I can't decipher.

"You're not allowed to come in my room," I blurt, hating how pathetic it is to say that to a man whose house I'm staying at.

My hand flies to my chest to cover myself, the dress hangs loose, barely holding. But his eyes don't drop, they stay locked on my angry face.

"Listen to me," he says, taking one step forward.

Meanwhile I turn towards my vanity mirror. I can see him standing feet away from my seat.

"Get. Out." I say flatly.

He stops, his jaw tightening, but before he can respond to my rudeness, another knock sounds. Ella's standing at the door, her gaze flicking between us curiously.

"Hey, Iraanya, I'm here to help you with the dress," she says, carefully avoiding Alonzo's eyes.

"I'll help her. You can leave," he says curtly, glancing at me and then at the back of my dress as if he's fighting the urge to look longer.

"No way," I snap, my tone sharp. The idea of him tying my dress strings is absurd. But before I can say more, he's already turned to Ella.

"Leave," he orders, his tone sharper than knife.

She hesitates, looking at me for permission, but his tone leaves no room for argument. He shuts the door in her face and walks towards me in slow steps as if he is contemplating the explanation he's going to give me for his rude behaviour earlier.

"Turn around," he says quietly.

His voice, deep and commanding, pulls a reaction out of me before I can resist. I turn, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

His gaze lingers at me before he gathers my hair gently, inhaling loudly and moves it over my shoulder. His fingers graze my bare back, rough skin against soft flesh, sending sparks down my spine.

He adjusts the strings on the corners of the hook. It's slow and torturous with his breath fanning on my neck.

"Which club are you going?" he murmurs, his breath fanning on my neck.

"Why do you want to know?"

"I will drop you," he says, not asking but stating. His hands on my dress move unhurriedly as it is the only way to buy the time to have this conversation. He knows that he is in command here.

"Oh, so you came to play a hero now?" I shoot back. "Thanks but I will take the driver."

"Not tonight." He pulls the strings tighter, making my back hit his chest. "Driver's on leave today," he continues, finishing the knot, his hands resting on my waist, making my waist feel so small against his large hands.

I bet on my life that I saw the driver this morning, talking to Carlo in the driveaway.

His fingers find the string again, even though the knot is already tied. He toys with it, curling against his finger, his actions enough to make my breath catch.

"Still mad?" he asks softly, his breath brushing the shell of my ear.

I meet his gaze in the mirror. His reflection looks calm, but his jaw is tense, his eyes darker, while his fingers are rolling and unrolling the end of the string mindlessly.

The eye contact, the voice, the tension, his chest brushing against my back, all of this is making my breathing so fast.

"Tying a bow doesn't fix the damage." I mentally pat my shoulder for keeping my tone tight and firm.

"Mhm, to fix the damage, let me pick you up too?" His hands gently grips my hips.

My brows knit together. Pick me up? I haven't even agreed to go with him yet. He's already two steps ahead. Is he delusional or just ignorant?

And maybe just maybe deep down I want to agree because of the thick tension between us. Or I don't want to agree just to let him persuade more with his breath brushing my skin like velvet.

"Fine," I say, clipped. "I'll go with you."

The second I say it, he releases the ribbon and steps back, the air cooling where his touch was.

I turn around, his face again void of any expressions. I wonder what it took to make him this robotic-stoic of a person that whenever a hint of positive emotions starts to form on his face, something in completely overcomes the need to be an approachable man.

"Come downstairs when you're ready."

He's walking out, until he stops at the door, head tilting sideways when he looks at me, his gaze finally- properly drops to my dress.

"Ridiculous pink colour," he says, his gaze dropping on my lips, lingering there for one more breath. "Wear that color lipstick."

By the time evening rolls around, I'm halfway through convincing myself that this is a good idea.

The satin clings like black shadow in all the right places. The neckline dips just enough to flatter my small chest. At 5'7 I don't need heels to command attention, but I wear them anyway. The hem skims the top of my thick thighs, making it look shorter than I intend. The crisscross strings tied in the back, end just at the curve of my waist.

The mirror agrees. I feel beautiful after so long.

So here we are, sitting in his car, him in a mysterious mood, me trying to breathe through the tension so thick it could fog up the windshield.

He doesn't say a word. Neither do I.

The city lights flash across his face, his knuckles are flexing against the steering wheel every time I sweep my gaze on him.

When we pull up outside Phantom, the heavy bass music is already leaking onto the street, sending waves of excitement inside my body.

But exactly then, the universe decides to make my night going from mildly awkward to full-on cosmic joke.

Because standing near the entrance, with his hands shoved in his pockets and that half-smile that once melted my adolescent brain, is Abhay Akkineni.

My best friend practically skips toward me, glittering in black heels and red dress. Hear me out, she chose the dress I picked and defied her boyfriend. "Surprise!" she yells, arms wide.

I hug her tightly and behind her, Abhay gives a polite, sheepish wave.

My stomach drops. "You said he wasn't coming."

"He wasn't, but I begged him to drop me off."

His eyes still have that warmth, understanding presence. The one who used to save me a last seat in the classroom when I didn't feel like interacting with anyone.

"Hey," he says quietly, like we're still seventeen. "You look... wow."

I laugh too quickly. "You mean different."

"Different's good," he replies, eyes softening.

Behind us, a car door slams, a little too loudly.

Alonzo steps out, all dark suit and darker expression, and for some reason, the street lights decide to make him look even more intimidating than usual.

Aratrika waves. "Oh! You must be her tutor."

I mentally face-palm myself. Aratrika, please don't try small talking, he won't utter a single word until it benefits him.

He ignores her. Asshole. Just eyes pinning Abhay, and finally settling on me.

"I'll pick you up in two hours," he says, tone clipped.

"I can take a cab."

"I will drop you, Aanya," Abhay interrupts me.

He throws a look at him. "Two hours," he repeats, before turning back to the car.

Abhay watches the entire exchange, expression unreadable. "He's.... protective?"

"Just moody," I mutter. "Long day."

But the way Alonzo's jaw tightened when his gaze pinned him down, that wasn't "long day" anger. That was something else that made my pulse skip.

I shake it off. "Let's go inside," I say brightly, forcing a smile.

Aratrika loops her arm through mine. "Finally! Let's forget men exist, just dance and get drunk."

If only that were possible.

Because as the music swells and lights scatter across the floor, I can still feel Alonzo's gaze burning somewhere in the back of my mind and Abhay's kindness pulling at the front of my heart.

And maybe it's just the bass, or the guilt of our argument, my mistake of invading his space, but tonight feels like standing in the middle of a tug-of-war where both sides are so confusing.

The music's loud, too loud. People are laughing, spilling drinks, losing themselves.

And then there's Abhay, sitting at the corner of the bar, elbows on the counter, lost somewhere in thoughts.

Aratrika's already disappeared into the crowd, yelling something about finding good lighting for her Instagram story.

When his eyes find me, he smiles that old schoolboy smile.

I plop next to him, clutching my drink tightly.

"Hey Stranger." I blink slowly, like my brain's buffering, alcohol already reaching my bones and blood.

He chuckles softly, eyes warm. "Hey yourself. How've you been lately?"

I shrug, grinning crookedly. "Functional. You?"

"Same," he says, and there's something behind it, the same restraint that used to annoy me when we were teenagers. Now I'm happy that he has that restraint because I've outgrown what he hasn't.

"So... life? How's the internship?"

"Long hours, bad coffee, but the view from their building is nice."

"Oh." I drag a fingertip along the rim of the glass.

Why is this so awkward? Even the post conversation with Alonzo after trespassing his house wasn't so awkward.

Something warm and achey spreads in my chest.

He's still the same. Gentle. Careful. Shy. The kind of boy who held your bag without asking and didn't make a big deal about it.

"Do you ever miss it?" he asks suddenly.

"What?" I take one more sip from the glass. He's completely sober, with glass of water in his hand.

"Back then. School. Us. Our study gang of three people."

I smile softly, eyes getting dizzy with alcohol burning my throat. "Sometimes. Mostly the nonsense banters. Us sitting on my living room floor pretending to solve physics while house-helps bribed us with snacks."

He grins. "Your dad hated me."

I burst into laughter. "Oh my god, yes! He used to peek through the door pretending to check if we were studying but just glaring at you."

"I was terrified of him," he admits. "Every time he called you from across the room- 'Iraanya beta', I'd sit straighter."

I laugh harder, almost spilling my whiskey. "Because my father thought you liked me."

Abhay looks at me quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "He wasn't wrong."

My laughter dies in my throat.

He says it so simply, so softly, a truth that's been living quietly for years.

"Why are you telling me this, now?"

He looks at my glass, heaving a long sigh. "Because you'll forget it by morning."

Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's the weight of nostalgia, but everything inside me starts to blur.

I take another drink to wash it down, to keep it from showing. But I can't breathe.

"Hey, hey. Easy there,' he grabs the glass from my hand, putting it away from my reach.

"I need some air," I say, standing up, the room spinning a little. He calls something from behind but I ignore it walking straight out to the entrance.

The music slows buzzing outside, cool air hitting my skin, sending shivers to my whole body. My feet hurt with the heels, so I take them off, walking barefoot ahead.

Alonzo's leaning against his car, engrossed in his phone, tension lines forming in his forehead.

Is it two hours already?

I approach him, he lifts his gaze from his screen. For a long moment, he doesn't say anything. Just watches, that unblinking focus in my glossy eyes gazing down to my barefoot.

He takes one small step closer, enough that I can feel the warmth coming off him. I shouldn't, but I tilt forward until my forehead bumps the hard line of his chest.

He stiffens. Then, after a second, he drapes his arm on my waist, steadying me.

I look up at him, chin resting over his heart which is beating too fast exactly like mine.

"Hi," I whisper, grinning lazily. "You're so tall."

I trace invisible shapes on his sleeve.

He looks down at me, his jaw flexing, still he says, "Hi."

"You know," I hiccup a sob halfway through. "I think I've finally discovered my superpower."

He hums. "Which is?" His hand comes up and brushes a strand of hair from my face.

"I can ruin any night by overthinking it." I grin widely, trying to hold back tears. "One sip of whiskey and poof! Existential crisis unlocked. And I only use my powers for self-destruction."

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