Chapter 13 CHAPTER 13

Chapter 13 CHAPTER 13
ZARA

My ginger red hair cascades down my back. Wavy and slightly messy from being stuffed under the wig. It tumbled down around my shoulders, exposing me completely while the cheap synthetic wig dangled from his fingers like a trophy.

. I stood there, breath caught in my throat, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“The red hair actually fits you more Dylan murmured, his expression remaining serious, almost thoughtful, as he studied my face. The room felt smaller, the air thicker between us. He held the wig loosely, not waving it mockingly, but simply... holding it.

“But then I need to give you back. No one is going to recognise you since it is dark.” He said and gave it to me which I took immediately.

I swallowed hard, my mind spinning with a thousand questions about why he actually complimented my hair out of the blue. He is never the type to do that so I am kind of confused right now.

“Okay. I need to go home now.” The words tumbled out of my mouth for the third time that evening, sharper than I intended, but I meant every syllable.

My legs felt heavy after hours of hiding, and my head throbbed with the kind of dull ache that comes from too much silence and stale air. Dylan stood in front of me, arms crossed, his dark eyes searching my face like he could read every exhausted line etched there.

“Zara, are you okay?,” he asked quickly, his voice low and steady in the dim glow of the bulb above us. “You’ve been cooped up in that closet since. Do you want me to carry you?” he asked and I shook my head, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“No. I’ve already overstayed. My family will start wondering where I am. I need to go.” The lie tasted bitter. My family wasn’t expecting me back until late anyway, but the truth was simpler, I hated feeling like a burden. Especially to Dylan who doesn't deserve to know anything about me. He already said we should respect each other's privacy.

Especially after everything that had happened today.

He sighed but didn’t argue further. Instead, he grabbed his jacket from the chair and handed it to me. “Fine. I will take my bike.”

We stepped out of the guest room together, the hallway lights flickering on automatically as our movement triggered the sensors. The cool air hit me first, a welcome relief from the stuffy closet where I’d spent the better part of the day curled up with my knees to my chest. I took a deep breath, forcing one foot in front of the other. The front door was only twenty steps away. I could make it.

But the world tilted suddenly. My vision blurred at the edges, black spots dancing like fireflies. My knees buckled without warning.

Fuck. I wish I had actually agreed when he volunteered to help me out.

“Dylan” I gasped, reaching out blindly as the floor rushed up to meet me.

Strong arms caught me before I could collapse. Dylan’s grip was firm, one arm sliding under my knees, the other supporting my back.

“Whoa, easy,” he murmured, his breath warm against my hair. I tried to protest, to tell him I was fine, but the dizziness swallowed my words.

The last thing I remember was the gentle sway as he lifted me completely off the ground, carrying me like I weighed nothing.

When I fluttered my eyelids, I realised I was not back in my dorm, nor was I at home. I was lying on a soft bed that smelled faintly of my mint and Dylan’s cologne. His room. The realisation came slowly, my eyelids fluttering open to the familiar posters on the wall and the glow of a single lamp on the nightstand.

A cool cloth rested on my forehead, and a glass of water sat within reach. My body felt drained.

Dylan sat on the edge of the bed, watching me with a mixture of concern and something softer.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice rough. “You nearly hit the floor. I carried you back here because your pulse was racing and you went limp in my arms.” He added and I tried to sit up, but he gently pressed a hand to my shoulder.

“Stay down. Your body just shut down on you. Low blood sugar, dehydration, exhaustion… take your pick.”

Heat flushed my cheeks. I remembered the long afternoon spent squeezed between winter coats and old boxes, waiting for the house to empty so I could slip away unnoticed. It had seemed necessary at the time, a way to avoid awkward questions from his friends but it might have been the worst decision ever. Now it felt childish.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t think it would hit me like that,” I said and he brushed a thumb across my cheek, his touch lingering.

“You don’t have to apologise. Just don’t pull that ‘I’m going home’ stubbornness again tonight. Sleep here. I’ll take the couch.”

I wanted to argue, but the pillow was too soft and my limbs too heavy. Sleep claimed me quickly, pulling me under like a warm tide. He is my bully after all but I don't really mind staying here.

The sun rays filtered through the curtains when I woke. My head felt clearer, though a faint ache still pulsed at my temples. I sat up slowly, noticing the blanket tucked carefully around me and the faint scent of coffee drifting from the kitchen. Dylan appeared in the doorway moments later, holding a mug and looking rumpled from his night on the couch. His hair tousled to the back and his t-shirt wrinkled.

“Morning,” he said, offering me the coffee. I took it gratefully, the warmth seeping into my palms.

“Thanks for everything.” I sipped carefully, avoiding his gaze at first. Memories of last night replayed in my mind.. and my face warmed again.

Dylan sat on the chair across from the bed, elbows on his knees. He studied me for a long moment, the silence stretching comfortably between us. “You look better,” he finally said. “Colour’s back in your cheeks.”

“I feel better. Really.” I set the mug down and swung my legs over the side of the bed. “I should get going now. My parents—”

“Zara.” His voice stopped me mid-motion. He leaned forward, expression serious but kind. “I am going to allow you to go home. And for our next meeting, we might need to see each other at my place?

“Your place?” I asked to be sure I heard him right.

“Yes.” He replied and I blinked, surprised.

Part of me had expected him to suggest I stay longer, maybe talk about what had happened yesterday or why I’d needed to hide in the first place. But instead, he was letting me leave.

And what does it mean by his place? Could it be that he has his own personal apartment? Well, I won't be surprised if he actually has one.