Amira's POV

I drop my gaze, blushing when I know I'm supposed to be running, but Zayn being taken aback by my body made me freeze.

His eyes traced over me, the same way they did in my dream.

A dream I never wanted to admit felt like desire.

He has always seen me as that little child, but today, his eyes say otherwise.

I know what is about to happen, and my heart skips a beat at just the anticipation of it.

I thought this was finally the moment I’d fantasized about, but even as the excitement flickered, something inside me trembled, like a warning.

He leans in to me, and I instinctively wrap my hand around his hair, massaging it softly, like I used to play with it before.

It felt so familiar, yet so foreign.

But I just can't seem to stop it.

The intensity of the moment, the closeness, the rawness of being seen like this by Zayn… it carried us forward, past the point of choice.

He looked up at me, eyes bloodshot, as if seeking permission.

Without any words, I just nodded my head even though every fiber of my being is telling me to halt.

He lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist.

He puts me down on the closest couch in the living room, our eyes still in each other's, living through the heat of the moment.

Against my better judgment, my hands lifted, driven by a sudden, unthinking need. My lips pressed against his. He didn’t hesitate, answering with a kiss that left me dizzy and trembling.

Mom would be having a stroke at this moment if she were to see me like this, that I'm sure, and my father, well, let's not talk about that.

Even the picture of my parents hanging on the wall didn't seem to bring me back to my senses.

I didn't know how he did it, but Zayn also was standing over me, both of us in our birth suits.

He pulls me from the couch and, guided by the moment, lays me on the large center table in the middle of the living room.

He slowly looks up at me, still not saying a word, but his eyes are still asking me to stop him before it's too late, but I wasn't about to.

I told myself I wanted it, maybe to feel grown, maybe to silence doubt, but my body and mind never agreed.

He proceeds to fondle every part of my body like it's a rare artifact, and I just lie there moaning like a banshee, my back arching as he skillfully suckles on my twins.

But the moment his weight pressed over me, reality didn’t glow like my dreams; it swallowed me.

Something felt wrong.

Like we're moving too fast, and it felt too real.

"Wh… what are you doing?" My voice cracked, trembling with panic.

My senses decided to grace me with their presence as I felt the sharp pain trying to course through my body.

He was closer now, impossibly close, and the world seemed to shrink around us.

I wanted him, or I thought I did, until the moment became real.

My mind screamed, and my instincts shouted, "Stop!" yet my body, naive, inexperienced, and confused, followed the momentum.

Everything moved too fast.

Moments blurred, all our clothes gone, our breath tangled with the world too loud and too quiet at once.

One moment I was panicking, trying to collect myself, and the next… it had already happened.

My innocence, my sense of safety, and my childhood trust in him were all gone in a blur of instinct, fear, and a force I didn’t understand.

He moves away from me, his breathing still heavy from his climax.

I sink against the wall, trembling. My hands clutched my body like a lifeline, my knees quaking.

Shame rose hot in my chest. Confusion clouded my mind. The air felt thick, heavy, and almost suffocating.

He proceeds to move close to me, but I stop him.

"Z… Zayn…" I whisper, my voice cracking. "Please… just go."

He stops and stares at me for a brief second before he gets up and puts his clothes back on.

"Make sure to take care of yourself," that's all he says and walks out of the house.

I collapse onto the floor, heart hammering. Every breath felt stolen. Every heartbeat echoed in my skull. I had trusted him. My cousin, the one person who had been my protector, my safe place, had been at the center of this chaos.

And then he walked away, like nothing had happened.

I scurry over and grab onto the towel and clutch it to my body, but it still feels useless against the shame coursing through me. I wanted to scream, to cry, to run, but the paralysis of shock held me hostage.

My eighteenth birthday, the day I had imagined as the start of freedom, had become a fracture in my world.

Yes, I wanted freedom, but this one feels like too much.

I dragged myself back to the bathroom, shaking, and let the water wash over me. Eighteen candles should have promised freedom. Instead, they lit the fracture of my trust, my innocence, and the world I thought I knew.

As I walk out of the bathroom, my eyes fall on the picture frame of Zayn's picture on my drawer, now facing down.

Maybe the glass shattering earlier was the sign, but I ignored it.

Or maybe I wanted to ignore it.

"Happy birthday, Amira," I whispered into the empty bathroom.

"Eighteen… and everything is broken."

Freedom came, but like the shattered glass, it cut more than it freed.