The club pulsed with life, neon lights flashing across the dimly lit space as the bass of the music vibrated through the air. The night had already been eventful, but nothing compared to the moment that just unfolded on the dance floor.
Hamza's possessive move—pressing Shumaila against him and shaking hands with that guy instead—had been the highlight of the night. The tension had been thick enough to suffocate everyone who had been watching.
Shumaila was still recovering from the way he had completely overpowered the situation, her heart racing. She turned in his arms, placing her hands on his chest to push him back, but Hamza held his ground, his eyes dark and intense.
"What the hell was that, Hamza?" she hissed.
Hamza smirked, lowering his head so his lips were near her ear, his breath warm against her skin.
"Just making sure everyone knows you're already taken."
Shumaila's breath hitched, her fingers twitching against his shirt. He was playing dangerous games tonight. And worse? Her body was betraying her, responding to every little move he made.
She swallowed, forcing herself to glare up at him. "You're impossible."
His smirk widened. "You love it."
Before she could retort, the group's loud laughter from their booth cut through the moment, pulling them both back into reality. Shumaila quickly stepped away, but the damage was done—her face was red, her heartbeat erratic. Hamza, on the other hand, looked far too smug for his own good.
Back at the booth, the group had seen everything.
"Oh man," Rudra exhaled, shaking his head with a smirk. "Our boy is in deep."
Sneha, sipping her cocktail, raised a brow. "I knew Hamza had it bad, but damn, did you see his face when that guy approached Shumaila?"
"I was waiting for him to punch the dude," Siddarth chuckled. "But of course, he had to be dramatic about it."
"He literally grabbed her like she was his possession," Komal pointed out, grinning. "And the way he introduced himself? Like he was closing a business deal."
Akansha nudged Aarav, stifling a laugh. "I thought Shumaila was gonna smack him."
"Oh, she still might," Aarav said, eyes locked on the pair who were now moving dangerously close to each other on the dance floor when slow song started playing.
Hamza's hands were firm on Shumaila's waist, guiding her movements, their bodies practically molded together. The atmosphere around them shifted, the teasing playfulness turning into something far more charged. Their chemistry crackled like fire, visible to anyone paying attention.
"You know, this isn't just jealousy," Sneha mused, stirring the straw in her drink. "This is territorial. Like, full-blown 'you belong to me' shit."
"Oh, and Shumaila is definitely pushing his buttons," Komal added, eyes gleaming in amusement as she watched their friend deliberately trail her fingers down Hamza's chest, making him stiffen.
Siddarth shook his head, laughing. "She's testing him."
"And he's losing," Rudra finished, raising his glass in approval.
They watched as Hamza leaned down, his lips brushing against Shumaila's ear, whispering something only she could hear.
Shumaila's reaction was instant—her breath hitched, her hands gripping his shirt tighter. The way Hamza's fingers pressed just a little deeper into her waist sent a clear message: she's his.
The group collectively let out a low whistle.
"He's not playing fair," Aarav remarked.
Akansha smirked. "Neither is she."
Then came the moment when Shumaila tilted her head up, their lips mere inches apart. The music seemed to fade, the world around them disappearing as they lingered at the edge of something dangerously intoxicating.
And then—
"Damn, get a room already!" Rudra's loud voice shattered the moment.
The tension snapped like a rubber band.
Shumaila immediately stepped back, her face burning, while Hamza remained unfazed, though his smirk was too smug for someone who had just been interrupted.
Shumaila turned to glare at their table, where the entire group was either laughing or shaking their heads in amusement.
Hamza, however, leaned down once more, his voice low and teasing.
"This isn't over."
The way he said it—deep, husky, full of promise—made Shumaila's skin tingle. But before she could react, he pulled away, leaving her standing in the middle of the dance floor, her heart hammering against her ribs.
...
Needing air, Shumaila slipped away from the group, making her way toward the quieter area of the club near the entrance. She barely had a moment to calm herself before a warm hand curled around her wrist, gently but firmly pulling her into a secluded hallway.
Her back hit the wall, and suddenly, Hamza was in front of her, his hands resting on either side of her head, caging her in.
His gaze darkened, trailing down her figure before returning to her eyes. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me in this dress?"
Shumaila's breath stilled.
Hamza leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. "You're making it very hard for me to control myself."
A shiver ran down her spine.
His fingers trailed just barely down her arm, featherlight, teasing, torturous.
Then, he whispered, "Can I kiss you?" (Nah beech you can't)
The air between them grew heavy. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved. Just deep, ragged breathing and the overwhelming tension crackling between them.
Shumaila's heart pounded, her hands curling into fists at her sides. Then, slowly, she leaned in—
"Ahem."
The dramatic clearing of a throat made them both jolt apart.
"Oh, wow, don't mind us," Sneha said loudly, smirking.
Komal crossed her arms, grinning. "Really, guys? If you're gonna have a moment, at least warn us."
Siddarth let out an exaggerated sigh. "We were just leaving the club and thought you two were already outside. Turns out, we just walked into a live romance novel."
Shumaila, completely flustered, glared at all of them. "We should leave."
The group burst into laughter as they followed her, leaving Hamza smiling behind her, his eyes still burning with something unfinished.