The second I fall into the ice-cold water, I lose all my senses. Literally. My eyes shut on their own accord and I struggle to swim and remain afloat. Darkness consumes me but I swear I feel something over my waist pull me before I pass out.

The first thing I realize when I open my eyes, Zayd's mouth is over mine.

I cough the water out of my lungs and push him away, my lungs burn painfully.

"I was about to die and that's what you're doing?" I say breathlessly.

Zayd gives me a blank look but you can see the concern swirling in those blue orbs.

"I was giving you this thing called CPR," he says dryly. I roll my eyes.

"Thank you for saving my life," I tell him sarcastically while I tremble, my clothes are damp and I think I'm going to have hypothermia. My teeth clatter.

"You're supposed to be thankful," he grumbles looking at my state. His eyes widen and he looks around for something before leaving me behind. He walks into the woods.

"Zayd?"

He doesn't reply. What the.. did he leave me here? I try to stand up but I can't. I feel pathetic, like a drowned cat.

The heat of the sun isn't warm enough, thanks to the clouds and my clothes are never going to dry this way. I hear footsteps, the crunching of old leaves and a minute later, Zayd returns with an arm full of firewood.

A smile graces my lips despite my state, this is so.. sweet. Who knew Zayd could be sweet?

I wait, sprawled in the ground with clattering teeth and watch Zayd, he has gotten rid of his leather jacket and I can watch the muscle beneath the thin shirt rippling with every move.

He stacks the firewood one above another and reaches for his back pocket, taking out his lighter. He does all this with that serious look in his face and clenched jaws. And I find it hot. Like, seriously.

Lighting the fire, he looks at it for a second before turning towards me. His eyes rake over my form and he shakes his head, pulling at his hair. He comes over and stands over me.

"We have to get rid of your clothes."

What?

"N-n-no," I reply.

"We have to," he grits out. I look at him with widened eyes, shivering wildly. Because of the cold, not by the thought of actually doing it.

"I-I c-can't."

"Please," he says. Softly. So soft I don't even hear him properly. He gets up and walks to a tree. He grabs his leather jacket that is hanging in a branch and brings it to me, I realize his clothes are wet as well.

Of course, they would be, he saved me after all.

He kneels next to me and looks into my eye. I feel my heart warming at his gaze, he looks concerned.

Maybe he doesn't hate me as much as I thought.

I let him pull my headscarf off, he looks into my eyes as he does so. My hair is completely wet, water dripping down from it. It sticks to my face, Zayd removes it away from my face so delicately, my heart leaps up.

I shriek when his hand snakes around my waist, the other around my thighs.

Astaghfirullah

He pulls me up with him as he stands up. I fist his shirt tightly.

He walks us behind the tree and lets me down. He hands me the leather jacket and leaves me there wordlessly, walking away. I look at his face but it is blank, except for that concern. Burning with the cold fire.

He faces the lake and with shaky hands, I unbutton my shirt. It clings to my skin, I take it off and let it fall. I don't take off anything other than that, this is the most I can.

I put on his leather jacket, it smells like him. The jacket engulfs my body completely, it reaches my thigh and my hands are halfway to the sleeves.

I walk to the fire and call him, my voice comes out soft.

He turns around and walks to me, his eyes again rake down my body a couple of times before reaching my eyes. I hold my breath when his hand reaches out and softly caresses my cheek, my heart flutters.

He takes a step back, I realize he has my headscarf in his hand. He walks to the wet shirt on the ground and hangs both piece of fabric over a branch.

Okay, is he really Zayd?

He then walks to me and sits down, pulling me with him. Our arms and legs are touching, he looks at the fire intensely. I look at him the same way.

"There's no network in here, my phone's not working," he informs me. I don't say anything and keep looking at him.

He turns his head and faces me, the orange flames in his eyes are a complete contrast to the cold storm inside them.

"I don't hate you for who you are," he starts, "I hate you for what you are."

"What do you m-"

"Don't."

I keep quiet and purse my lips, looking at the reflection of the flames in his eyes. His eyes follow my hair, from the top, all the way to my shoulder and waist.

This is wrong. I'm not supposed to let him see.

Why does something so wrong feel right?

I jump slightly when he touches my hair, raking his hand from the top to the end, all while looking into my eyes.

"Why the headscarf?"

"It's a part of my faith," I tell him.

"Why? Is there even a reason?"

I turn to look at him.

"Firstly, to please my creator."

His eyebrows shoot together.

"Second- so that random men don't gawk at us for pleasure. Women have always been exploited. Known for our gentleness, delicateness, and beauty. Women are often used as mere objects to attract men or sell products and services. As objects."

He looks at me intently. So, I resume.

"We believe that our beauty is sacred and certainly not for any random man to gawk at for pleasure."

"Makes sense," he mumbles. I nod.

"Lastly, I don't want to be judged by my appearance. Basically, by covering up, we demand self-respect from the public, as we do not allow ourselves to be judged based on our beauty."

"And do you wear it even in your home?"

I shake my head.

"Not in front of mahrams. A woman's mahram is a person whom she is never permitted to marry because of their close blood relationship. Basically- family."

He just looks at me, for a long time. I feel my cheeks heat up, it's weird how I easily blush because of him.

"Your husband is going to be one lucky son of a bitch."

"Why?"

"He gets to see you, all by himself," he grumbles angrily.

I giggle at that.

"Yeah, he will be very lucky," I wink at him somewhat seductively, wishing to see how he'll react. His eyes widen and his lips part, I resist the urge to kiss his cheek. Why is he acting so cute?

"Say, I were to marry you babygirl," he has a mischievous look in his face, "you wouldn't be wearing the headscarf in the bedroom, right?"

I push him away, heat crawls up my neck. He chuckles loudly and pinches my cheek. I feel warm inside.

A comfortable silence falls after that, we stay cuddled.

Looking at the flames.

Waiting to be rescued.

Relishing in each other's presence when we clearly hate each other.