CHAPTER 89: CHAPTER 89: THE FEAR OF DISAPPOINTMENT

He blinked at the fabric, then at me. "No," he said firmly, shaking his head. "There’s no way I’m wearing that with you, Evric."

I raised my brows, pretending to pout though my chest constricted at his rejection. "Why not? It’s just pajamas."

But he folded his arms, still dripping from the shower, and gave me a look that said he would not budge.

I held up the pajamas again, trying to convince him. "Please, baby, it’s just pajamas," I said softly, my tone almost pleading.

Zayn didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gave me that stubborn look, lips pressed together as though he was determined to resist me. Then, in his calm voice, he finally said, "Come and dry my hair. By the time you’re done, I’ll think about it."

When those words left his mouth, I didn’t waste a second. I quickly went to grab the hair dryer from the drawer and returned to his side. He was sitting comfortably, the towel still loosely tied around his waist, his damp hair clinging to his forehead.

As I plugged in the dryer and switched it on, he leaned back lazily in the chair, watching me with a playful glint in his eyes. His lips curved into a small smile before he let out a low laugh. "Why do you like things like that?" he teased, amusement lacing his voice.

I moved closer, running my fingers gently through his hair as I dried it, careful not to let the heat burn him. My heart softened at the sight of him letting me do something so simple, yet so intimate. I lowered my voice, meeting his gaze with quiet honesty.

"Babe, trust me," I whispered with a smile. "I only love to do this with you."

For a moment, his eyes lingered on me, the laughter fading into something more tender. The hum of the dryer filled the silence, but in that space, it felt like the whole world had gone still, just him, me, and the fragile warmth growing between us.

When I finished drying his hair, I switched off the dryer and set it aside. His hair was soft, still warm from the heat, and it fell neatly over his forehead. I brushed my fingers through it one last time, more to savor the closeness than anything else.

Zayn sat quietly for a moment, then let out a slow sigh as if he had finally lost the battle with himself. "Alright," he said at last, his voice low but clear. "Bring the pajamas. We’ll wear them."

My heart leapt instantly, and I couldn’t hold back the smile that spread across my face. Without wasting time, I hurried to grab the matching pajamas from the edge of the bed and handed them to him. He shook his head lightly, as if wondering why he ever let me win, but there was a small curve of amusement tugging at his lips.

We both changed, the silence between us was no longer tense but warm, filled with the quiet intimacy of sharing something silly yet meaningful. Seeing him in the same pajamas as me sent a rush of happiness through my chest, something so simple, but it felt like a secret promise, a shared bond that belonged only to us.

Afterward, we pulled back the covers and carefully lay down beside each other. The soft rustle of fabric filled the room as we settled into the bed. I turned slightly toward him, my arm brushing against his as I watched the way his eyes softened when they met mine.

The matching pajamas made us look almost childish, but at that moment, it felt different it felt like closeness, like home. I reached for his hand under the blanket and gave it a light squeeze. He didn’t resist; instead, his fingers laced gently through mine.

As we lay side by side in the quiet room, still wearing our matching pajamas, Zayn suddenly turned his head toward me. His expression had softened, but there was something serious in his eyes. He took a slow breath before speaking.

"Evric," he said carefully, his tone steady but edged with something uncertain. "I’m taking you home to meet my mom. Are you not scared to meet her?"

The weight of his words hung between us, and for a second, I could see the worry flicker across his face. He was trying to read my reaction, maybe even bracing himself for hesitation or fear.

Instead, I couldn’t help but laugh softly. The sound surprised even me, but it came from a place of certainty. I reached out and gently touched his arm, giving him a reassuring smile.

"Seriously, Zayn," I said, meeting his gaze without flinching. "I actually like getting closer to older people more than younger ones. And no, I’m not scared of meeting her. Do you know why?"

He tilted his head slightly, curiosity flashing in his eyes as though he wasn’t expecting such a calm answer.

I held his gaze firmly, speaking with quiet conviction. "Because you’ve already made it clear to me, only when she accepts me will you officially be with me. So, I just have to be ready. Whether it ends in rejection or acceptance, I need to prepare myself for the result."

I shifted slightly on the bed so I could see him more clearly, my fingers still resting against the warmth of his arm. His words about meeting his mother lingered in the air, and I couldn’t help but tilt my head, searching his face for the truth he hadn’t yet spoken.

"So what about you?" I asked gently, my voice low but steady. "Are you scared to bring me home to your mom? How do you think she will react?"

Zayn drew in a breath, his eyes flickering away from mine for a brief moment. It was rare to see him hesitate, he was always confident, always sure of himself, but now there was a flicker of uncertainty in the way his jaw tightened and relaxed.

"Evric," he said slowly, calling my name as if to steady himself before continuing. "I... I honestly don’t know how she’ll react." His voice softened, almost breaking through the strong exterior he usually carried.

He paused, his gaze finally returning to me, and I could see the conflict swimming in his eyes. "But I do know one thing. She’ll be disappointed at first.