Zara didn't rush.
She spent the week walking alone, journaling, sitting in cafés where no one knew her name. She replayed every moment—every kiss, every fight, every silence.
She called her mother.
"I love him," she said. "And I'm not asking for permission."
Her mother didn't respond right away.
"I worry for you," she said finally. "But I won't stand in your way."
It wasn't approval. But it was enough.
Zara exhaled.
She went to Malik's apartment on a rainy Thursday, her heart thudding like a drum.
He opened the door, surprised. Tired. Beautiful.
"I thought you needed more time," he said.
"I did," she replied. "And I used it to remember why I chose you."
He stepped aside. She walked in.
"I'm done hiding," she said. "From my family. From the world. From myself."
Malik's eyes softened. "So what now?"
Zara smiled. "Now we live. In the light. In the mess. In the truth."
He pulled her into his arms, and this time, the kiss wasn't secret or stolen—it was a beginning.
Outside, the rain kept falling.
Inside, they were finally whole.