Chapter 10
Ten
ZAHRA
The flight from Seattle to Norman Regional Airport stretched in tense silence, the hum of the plane’s engine filling the void where conversation should have been.
I adjusted my grip on the armrest, the leather cool under my fingers, and stole a glance at Oliver. His eyes were fixed on his laptop screen, a steady hand jotting notes in his TA planner, and his jaw set like he was solving a complex equation in his head.
Last night’s argument lingered. His sharp reaction to blind spots in my schedule, the way his voice had softened after my flinch, the unspoken weight of the truths he’d picked up on. I told myself we were prepared, and our story was rehearsed to perfection. This was fine. Just play the part.
The airport came into view, its single terminal seemed smaller than it was a couple of weeks ago. Or maybe it was Oliver’s presence, reminding me that my world had gotten bigger, more complicated.
I adjusted the strap of my bag, Oliver’s stoic stance beside me was a steady pressure I couldn’t shake.
As we stepped out, his hand found the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd with a reassurance that felt too warm, too firm, too dangerously close to real. I straightened, smoothing my blouse.
“This is fine,” I whispered to myself, focusing on the polished floor beneath my feet. "We’ve got this."
But our near-fracture sat heavy on my shoulders. The way Oliver looked at me when we said goodbye. The way I'd wanted to touch him but didn't. The way my pulse quickened at the memory of his closeness. The forgotten words he’d claimed were meaningless, but I couldn't let go of.
Baggage claim was chaos. Voices overlapping, luggage clattering, the air thick with post-flight energy. And then?—
"Zazi!"
My cousin Parisa barreled toward me first, her squeal piercing the din as she threw her arms around me.
“Pari!” I squeezed her back with equal enthusiasm. “You didn’t need to come all the way to the airport.”
She waved me off, then held me at arm's length, her hands firm on my shoulders and her dark eyes sparkling. “Look at you, so put together.” Then she nudged me with a wink. “Good thing I know better.”
I laughed, the sound only slightly forced. "And you look amazing. The bride-to-be's glow is real."
“You know it,” Parisa said with a little shimmy. Then her gaze shifted to Oliver, who stood with perfect posture, his expression warm but reserved, and his hand still firmly on my back. The model boyfriend, ready for inspection.
"And if it isn’t Oliver Beck," she said, reaching for him with both hands. "All grown up."
Oliver accepted her hug with practiced ease. "It’s good to see you again, Parisa."
"Better than good," Parisa squeezed his shoulders, then paused, her eyes widening as she repeated the motion. "Damn, Zazi! If I’d known little Ollie Beck had this kind of muscle potential, I’d have told you to jump him years ago.”
“Parisa!”
Mortified couldn’t begin to describe what I was feeling, my face burning so hot I thought I might spontaneously combust. But Oliver? He was laughing, arm slung casually over Parisa’s shoulder as he set me with a teasing glare.
“And if I’d known you were this much fun, I’d have picked you as my BFF.”
“Hey!” The indignation was real, even though I knew his comment was part of an act.
“Oooooh, burn!” And now they were both doubled over, wiping tears from the corners of their eyes.
And just like that, Oliver had won over the bride.
“He's a keeper," Parisa said once she regained control of her breathing. "Mom’s gonna hate that."
Her mom. My Auntie Maryam. Auntie's skepticism was legendary, and I wasn't sure I could survive her scrutiny.
Then I saw my parents. It was as if everything that had been weighing me down vanished, all my worries melting away in my mother’s warm embrace.
" Azizam ," she murmured, squeezing me tight. "I've missed you."
"Missed you too, Mom," I said, meaning it.
When I moved to hug my dad, she turned to Oliver, her expression as full of affection as it was when she looked at me.
"Oliver." She beamed, and he extended his hand, but my mother waved it away, pulling him into a lingering hug instead. “It’s been too long.”
"Mrs. Nazarian." He tried to keep his voice level, but I heard the crack. "It's wonderful to see you again after all these years."
"I’ve been telling you to call me Mina since you were a child." She chuckled, patting his cheek in that maternal way she had. "Maybe now that you’re officially part of the family, you’ll listen.”
The weight of the world came crashing down on me at her words, and by the tortured look in Oliver’s eyes, he wasn’t far behind.
“You've grown into quite the successful young man," my father said, stepping forward, his handshake firm as he greeted Oliver. "I’m happy to welcome you back into our family."
Another gutting statement. Oliver’s smooth smile faltered, but he regained control too quickly for anyone but me to notice.
I hated how good he was at this. Hated how much I wanted my parents’ words to become reality.
Then my aunt appeared, cutting through the small crowd with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue, which was about to be aimed at us.
As if sensing danger, Oliver moved closer, his hand finding mine and threading our fingers together as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Auntie.” I greeted her with a peck on each cheek before tucking myself back into Oliver’s side. “You remember Oliver Beck?”
"I do.” She sniffed, her green eyes studying him, stopping on our linked hands. “I also remember you two had a big fallout in high school, and that you went your separate ways."
My mother winced, my father suddenly became very interested in my baggage, and Parisa dropped her face into her hands, mumbling in Farsi. But Oliver didn't flinch.
“That was a long time ago,” he said smoothly, his arm slipping around my waist like it belonged there.
"When we ran into each other in Seattle, what we remembered was what made us good friends in the first place—trust, companionship.
" He glanced down at me, his hand flexing gently at my hip.
It was meant to look casual. Natural. But his tightening fingers felt uncontrolled, possessive.
Hot. And I was lost in his intense gaze, in all the unspoken words, in the sincerity of the ones he was saying out loud.
“We grew out of the old labels and boxes, we saw each other so clearly all of a sudden, and we just knew.”
“I’m going to need you to write my vows,” Parisa whispered in awe, destroying the moment. I blinked, turned to her, and burst out laughing.
“Pari, I’m going to have you banned from coming near my man at this rate.”
“I wanna see you try to keep me away.”
“Don’t worry.” Oliver tugged me closer. “I’m all yours."
It was nothing.
It should have been nothing.
A reflex.
But my body responded as if it were real—warmth blooming in my cheeks, heart stuttering against my ribs, and before I could think, I leaned up and kissed him.
A light brush. Automatic. The kind of kiss that feels effortless, real. The kind you give when you're in love, when you don't even have to think about it.
Oliver froze.
I should have pulled back, I meant to pull back, but then his arm tightened around me, lips pressing just a fraction deeper, just a moment too long. A breath caught between us. A beat that felt like a pause in the world.
And then a small, exhaled sound, like he was losing a fight with himself.
Suddenly, there was too much heat, too much closeness.
His fingers skimmed the fabric at my waist like he was trying to memorize it, his lips moving against mine with the urgency of a man who knew he was on borrowed time.
A shudder ran through him, something almost desperate in the way his grip flexed?—
And then it was gone. He broke the kiss. Stepped back. A fraction of distance, but it was enough.
My pulse roared in my ears, and for a moment, I forgot where we were. Who we were pretending to be.
It felt real.
Too real.
"Jeez, guys, at least wait 'til you get to your room," Parisa said with a smirk.
I forced a bright smile, though my heart was hammering, my breath unsteady.
"Well, that settles it," Oliver said lightly, smiling as if nothing had happened. "Zahra is literally breathtaking."
It was perfect. Smooth. Playful. It made everyone laugh and broke the tension like nothing had happened.
But I could still feel the press of his mouth, the heat of his hand through the fabric of my blouse, and the weight of what shouldn't have happened but did.
"Alright, alright," my father said, clapping his hands together. "Let's get you two situated in the hotel where you can have some privacy."
I guffawed. Dad was not the kind to crack jokes, definitely not those kinds of jokes. It was official. Oliver had won everyone over. Well, almost everyone. Auntie Maryam still stood there studying him with suspicion.
As we moved toward the exit, my fear was confirmed. Auntie fell into step beside me, her voice low.
"He's different," she observed, eyes still trained on Oliver. "More... I don't know. Serious."
"He's grown up, Auntie," I replied, trying to keep my voice light. "We both have."
"Hmm." She didn't sound convinced. "Well, I hope you manage to hold onto the relationship this time."
The comment stung more than it should have. This time . As if last time had been a disaster of my own making.
My stomach dipped, but I forced a smile, refusing to let it show. I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat and risked a glance at Oliver, but he was already looking away, his jaw tight.
Right. He’d lost control. He wasn’t good at reconciling with his vices.
The drive to the hotel was a blur of chatter.
My mother and Parisa insisted on riding with us in our rental instead of in their own vehicles.
They filled the silence with wedding details and family gossip.
Oliver drove while I was squeezed between the two women in the back seat.
Our eyes occasionally met in the rear-view mirror, each gaze electric, charged with something I couldn't name.
When we arrived at the hotel, my family insisted on helping us check in. Parisa practically bounced ahead to the reception desk, but Oliver and I lingered behind.
"That kiss..." I started, but my voice faltered.
"It was necessary," Oliver said. And that was it. His voice, his expression, he might as well have slammed a door shut in my face.
But I knew how his hand had lingered, and how his mouth had softened.
It wasn't just a performance. It couldn’t have been. Or maybe I was seeing what I wanted to see. Maybe Auntie was right, and I was a fool grasping at non-existent straws.
"Right," I said, my voice small. "It sold the act.”
“We made a mistake, deviating from the plan, not getting it out of the way in privacy." I watched him adjust the strap of his carry-on, his movements controlled and precise. “We won’t make that mistake again.”
Then he took my hand, threading our fingers together, and led me inside to our waiting audience.
I wondered if this was how it was going to be. Pretending we're perfect for everyone else while pretending we're nothing to each other.
"Guys!" Parisa's delighted voice interrupted my thoughts. "Come over here!"
We approached the front desk, where Parisa stood with that wicked grin I knew too well from childhood, the one that always preceded trouble.
"So," she drawled. "I took the liberty of upgrading your room."
Oliver tensed beside me. "That wasn't necessary?—"
"To the honeymoon suite," Parisa finished, triumphantly holding up a key card. "Almost top floor, best view in Norman, and—" She winked. "A jacuzzi tub big enough for two."
My mother clapped in delight, my father looked uncomfortable but pleased, and Auntie Maryam's eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline.
"Parisa," I hissed, heat flooding my cheeks. "That's too much."
“Save it, Zazi.” She shoved the keycard into my hand. “You’re making sure my wedding is perfect. This is nothing.”
“I disagree,” Oliver interjected. “It’s beyond generous, and it’s perfect. Thank you.” He slipped his arm around my waist again, pulling me against his side. "Though I think Zahra and I would have been perfectly happy anywhere, as long as we're together."
The words were honey-sweet, delivered with just the right touch of sincerity. My family melted, even Auntie's expression softened slightly.
But as soon as they were gone, Oliver dropped his arm from my waist and stepped away, the loss of his warmth more disorienting than it should have been.
"Shall we?" he asked, gesturing toward the elevators.
The honeymoon suite was exactly as over-the-top as I'd feared—rose petals scattered across a massive king bed, champagne chilling in an ice bucket, floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the town’s modest skyline, and yes, a ridiculously large jacuzzi tub in a bathroom bigger than my first apartment.
"Well," Oliver said after a moment of stunned silence. "This is..."
"Excessive?" I offered.
"I was going to say 'on-brand for Parisa,' but that works too."
A small laugh escaped me, some of the tension easing. "She always did go all in and all out."
Oliver set down his bag and moved to the windows, looking out at the view. Something in his posture shifted—a tightness in his shoulders, a stillness that hadn't been there before.
"You okay?" I asked.
He didn't turn. "Fine."
That single word, clipped and final, told me he was anything but fine. Being back in Norman was clearly affecting him more than he wanted to admit.
No personal questions. His past and his family were off limits.
That left only distraction. I looked around the room, locating the loveseat near the minibar, and figured I might as well get the pullout bed ready. Only when I tried to pull it out, it didn’t budge.
At first, I thought I was doing something wrong, so I tried a different way. Then another. And another. With every failed attempt, the truth became clearer, until it was undeniable.
“Oliver?” He turned to me, face blank. That was about to change. “The couch doesn’t pull out.”
He blinked, then frowned slightly, like I’d just spoken in a foreign language. Then his gaze flicked to the bed, and something behind his eyes—something carefully locked down—twitched.
“What do you mean?” His voice was too flat, too even. He knew. He just didn’t want to say it.
I let the silence stretch, waiting until his eyes finally met mine.
“There’s only one bed.”