I hadn’t even made it ten steps past the front gates before the chaos started.

At first, it was just a whisper — a few voices, snickers behind hands. Then came the whistling. Then the clapping.

By the time I hit the main hallway, it felt like the entire school had turned into a live studio audience.

Phones out. Eyes everywhere. Laughter rippling down the corridor like a wave I couldn’t outrun.

I kept my head down, hoodie up, praying the floor would split open and swallow me whole.

Someone yelled, “Yo, it’s the Café Girl!”

Another voice chimed in, “Say it again, Yara — TWO MINUTES!”

I froze mid-step. My breath caught. My throat burned.

God, kill me now.

I pushed forward, trying to tune it out, but my ears wouldn’t cooperate. Every echo, every snort of laughter, every click of a camera lens sank into my spine like splinters.

I was halfway to my locker when a hand shot out of nowhere, grabbing my sleeve. Before I could react, I was yanked sideways — the world blurring for half a second — and then the door slammed shut behind me.

“Jesus—!” I gasped.

“Shh.”

It was Alora.

Her blond hair was a mess, her expression somewhere between exasperation and concern. “You’re trending in real life,” she said, voice low. “Are you okay?”

I stared at her for a beat, still catching my breath. “Do I look okay?”

“Fair,” she sighed. “I tried to warn you. I even told people it was edited. Didn’t help. They love drama too much.”

I dropped my bag onto a desk, rubbing my temples. “They act like I killed someone. It was just—God, I don’t even know what it was anymore.”

She gave a tiny, guilty smile. “It was epic, that’s what it was. Horrible timing, but legendary delivery.”

“Not helping, Alora.”

“Okay, okay.” She raised her hands. “Look, I was gonna wait till after school, but screw it. Let’s ditch. You, me, ice cream. Rayan said he’d drive us out after classes, but honestly, I don’t mind going now. You look like you need to breathe.”

My heart stumbled at the sound of his name.

Rayan.

The image of him flickered instantly in my head — dark suit, darker eyes, that quiet intensity that felt like standing too close to lightning.

I swallowed, trying to sound casual. “He said that?”

“Yeah,” she said, oblivious to the storm happening in my chest. “He texted me this morning — said he’d take us to this new place near the lake.”

I hesitated. Every logical part of me screamed no. I’d just gone viral, my mom was probably preparing a lecture that would last till Christmas, and the last person I needed to see was the one who made me forget how to breathe.

But the irrational part of me — the one that remembered the way his thumb brushed my cheek that night, the way his voice wrapped around my name like smoke — that part whispered yes.

I told myself I just wanted to escape the noise. The whispers. The looks. But the truth?

I wanted to see him again.

To see if he’d look at me the same way.

I met Alora’s eyes. “Let’s go.”

She blinked. “Really?”

I nodded. “Before I change my mind.”

Her grin was instant. “That’s my girl.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and peeked through the blinds like a spy. “Okay, hallway’s clear. We take the back exit, act natural, and if anyone stops us—”

“I’ll cry,” I said. “Instantly.”

She laughed. “Perfect. Let’s move.”

We slipped out, quiet at first, sneakers squeaking against the floor. Every step felt dangerous, like we were escaping from a crime scene. The sun hit our faces the second we stepped outside — warm, mocking, too bright for the mood I was in.

Alora stretched her arms like freedom itself. “You know,” she said, “most girls would’ve locked themselves in their rooms after going viral. You’re brave.”

I snorted. “No, I’m just emotionally numb.”

She laughed again, looping her arm through mine. “Then let’s fix that with sugar.”

But as we started toward the parking lot, my chest tightened with a different kind of anticipation. The kind I didn’t want to admit. The kind that had nothing to do with escaping school or ice cream.

Because somewhere in the back of my head, I knew Rayan would be there — waiting.

The man who’d called me little Nightingale.

The one whose voice haunted me when I tried to sleep.

And maybe I shouldn’t want to see him. Maybe I should’ve been scared of the way he made me feel — the way my pulse tripped over itself, the way guilt tangled with hunger every time I thought about him.

But I did. God, I did.

So when Alora’s phone buzzed and she said, “He’s already outside,” I felt it. That twist in my stomach. That spark under my ribs.

I looked up. The sleek black car I remembered from the rain was parked just beyond the school gates, gleaming like sin in daylight.

Alora grinned. “See? Told you he’d come.”

And as we walked toward it — toward him — I told myself it was just for ice cream.

Just sugar. Just escape. Just a little breathing room.

But deep down, I knew better.

Because nothing about Rayan was just anything.

He was leaning beside the car, casually smoking an expensive cigar, sunlight catching the faint curl of smoke that trailed past his lips. The sight shouldn’t have made my pulse race, but it did — stupidly, helplessly.

Alora was still talking, still laughing beside me, but her words faded into static.

She quickly opened the back door to get in, still chatting about flavors and playlists, but my eyes stayed on him.

All I could think was how the air seemed to bend around him, how my heartbeat forgot its rhythm every time he looked my way.

I didn’t even realize I was whispering until the words slipped out, soft enough to sound like a thought.

“I’m definitely going to have you.”

He straightened, flicking the cigar away, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Excuse me?” His voice was low, silk dragged over steel.

Shit.

Was I loud? My cheeks burned. “Ooh… I said—uh—it’s really nice to see you.”

One dark brow lifted.

“Again,” I added quickly, forcing a laugh that sounded nothing like me. Then I ducked my head and scrambled into the back seat beside Alora before I could die on the spot.

My heart wouldn’t stop hammering. The car smelled faintly of smoke, spice, and something dangerously close to temptation.

I pressed my palms to my knees, willing myself to breathe, but every inhale felt like a promise I wasn’t ready to keep.

--