Sofia'sPOV
Khalid actually kissed me last night.
No, it wasn't our first kiss — technically. But something about it felt… different. His lips lingered, softer this time, almost hesitant, like he was pouring something into me he wasn't ready to name. And me? I was stupid enough to stand there letting my heart flutter like some hormonal teenage girl in a romance drama.
I think I'm falling for him.
No, Sofia. Don't fall in love. Stand in love. Standing means balance. Standing means you're in control. Falling means you end up flat on your face and crying into a pillow while binge-eating ice cream.
I shook my head and tied my robe loosely around my waist. The silk brushed against my knees as I padded down the hallway barefoot. Sunlight spilled across the marble floors, casting golden streaks that made the whole place glow.
The villa was quiet except for the rhythmic hush of waves outside. The salty breeze drifted in through the half-open windows, carrying a scent that made my nose twitch. It wasn't the ocean this time — it was warm, buttery, and sweet.
Oh no.
I knew that smell.
Khalid was in the kitchen. Again.
The last time he made breakfast, he somehow managed to keep his shirt perfectly white while I got splattered with pancake batter. He also smirked like he'd just won a secret competition I didn't know we were having.
As I stepped into the open-concept kitchen, I caught sight of him. Barefoot, in grey sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt that hugged his shoulders in ways I refused to notice, he stood at the stove, flipping something on a pan.
The morning light caught in his hair, making it look softer than usual, and for a second, I just… watched.
Then I reminded myself I wasn't here to admire him like some lovesick fool.
"Careful," I said, leaning against the counter. "The last thing we need is you burning down the villa before we've even explored the island properly."
He glanced over his shoulder with that infuriating half-smile. "Good morning to you too, sunshine. Sleep well?"
"Yes," I replied, narrowing my eyes. "Until the smell of something suspiciously edible dragged me out of bed."
"It's called breakfast, Sofia," he said dryly, turning back to the stove. "Most normal people like it."
I crossed my arms. "You're too good at this. It's suspicious. Are you secretly a retired chef?"
He slid two golden-brown pancakes onto a plate. "If I was, you'd be paying for this meal."
I rolled my eyes and moved closer, peeking over his shoulder. "What are you making? Besides my impending weight gain?"
"Pancakes, omelets, fresh fruit, and…" He opened the oven dramatically. "Cinnamon rolls."
I gasped. "Okay, no, this is a trap. You're trying to make me fall in love with you through food."
Khalid chuckled, setting plates on the counter. "You're already falling, Sofia."
I froze for a second, blinking at him. "What?"
"Falling… behind on eating breakfast," he said innocently, picking up a fork. "What did you think I meant?"
I narrowed my eyes at him, but my face felt warmer than it should have. "You're insufferable."
"And you're welcome."
We carried the plates to the balcony. The villa's balcony wasn't just a balcony — it was practically a dream carved into reality. Whitewashed wood railings framed a panoramic view of the turquoise ocean. Below, the beach stretched endlessly, the waves curling lazily against the shore. Palm trees swayed in the soft wind, and from here, I could even spot tiny fishing boats bobbing in the distance.
The table was already set — two chairs, fresh juice in tall glasses, and a vase of wildflowers that I was pretty sure Khalid had somehow procured this morning.
I sat down, inhaling the mix of salty air and sugary cinnamon. "I hate to say this," I said as he poured syrup over my pancakes, "but you might actually be husband material."
"Might?" he asked, raising a brow. "You're still unsure?"
I cut into the pancake. "Well, the bar is high. You'd have to consistently cook me breakfast, rub my feet, and agree with me in every argument for at least six months straight."
He smirked. "I can do two out of three."
"Which two?"
"I'll let you guess."
I snorted, taking a bite. "Mmm. Okay, fine. You're forgiven for existing."
We ate, trading sarcastic remarks between mouthfuls. Every so often, he'd give me that look — the kind that made my stomach do something inconvenient. The breeze tugged at my hair, and I tried not to notice how peaceful this felt.
For a moment, I almost forgot we were on an island for complicated reasons. Almost.
I was halfway through my cinnamon roll when it happened.
A shadow darted across the table. Before I could react, a small, furry blur leapt onto the railing, snatched the remaining half of Khalid's cinnamon roll, and scampered off with it clutched in tiny hands.
I blinked. "Was that… a monkey?"
Khalid's jaw tightened like he'd just witnessed a personal betrayal. "Yes."
"Aww," I said, laughing. "He probably just wanted a little snack."
"That," Khalid said darkly, "was not 'a little snack.' That was my cinnamon roll."
I bit my lip, trying not to laugh harder. "You sound like a five-year-old."
He set his fork down with alarming calm. "That's the second time this week, Sofia. First it was the mango, now this."
I grinned. "Oh no. Is the big scary Khalid losing a war to a tiny island monkey?"
"This is not a war," he said, pushing his chair back. "This is justice."
Before I could stop him, he picked up the butter knife from his plate, holding it like some kind of pirate sword. His eyes narrowed toward the direction the monkey had fled.
"Khalid…" I warned, laughing so hard my stomach hurt.
He glanced at me with utter seriousness. "Don't wait up for me, Sofia. I have a score to settle."
And with that, he strode toward the villa steps, barefoot and butter-knife-armed, like the most ridiculous avenger in history.