Khalid couldn't sleep that night. Or the next. Or the one after that. He told himself it was just guilt, but guilt didn't feel like this. Guilt didn't make your chest tighten every time your phone stayed stubbornly silent. Guilt didn't make you replay every single interaction, trying to pinpoint the exact moment you let something real slip through your fingers. And it was real. He knew that now.

He had flirted first. He had been the one lingering too long, making excuses to be around her, brushing his hand against hers just to see if she'd pull away. She never did. But Demi was braver than he was. She had been the one to act first, to close the space between them, to show him - without words - that whatever was happening between them wasn't just harmless banter. It was something else. Something bigger. And yet, when she needed him to stand by her, he had hesitated. He had let her walk away thinking she was the villain.

Meanwhile, Demi did what any self-respecting woman would do after suffering a heartbreak she didn't deserve. She got a life.

She didn't waste time sulking. At least, not publicly. Instead, she threw herself into things that had absolutely nothing to do with Khalid or his irritatingly attractive, broad-shouldered self. She signed up as a volunteer at a local community center, helping young girls with school applications. She bought new hijabs - lots of them. Retail therapy? No, this was a reinvention. A fresh start. A rebirth via chiffon, jersey, and silk.

And then, in a turn of events she hadn't expected, she fell into the world of perfume customizing. Who knew that was a thing? Certainly not her. But one innocent trip to buy a new scent spiraled into a full-blown obsession. Within weeks, she could recognize notes of oud, vanilla, and bergamot like a trained expert. She was mixing scents in tiny bottles, testing how they layered, and yes - naming them. She created one she called "Bad Decisions" (warm amber with a hint of regret) and another named "Text Your Ex? No." (a sharp burst of citrus followed by an immediate cooling effect). The irony was not lost on her.

But despite all the distractions, all the ways she tried to move on, there was one thing she couldn't ignore. She wasn't angry at Khalid anymore. She was angry at herself.

Because the truth was, if Khalid had just asked - just looked her in the eyes and said, "Demi, did you only go for me because of money?" - she would have answered with so much rage it would have melted the skin off his face. Because how dare he? How dare he let her fall for him, let her dream about both of them waking up in ridiculous wealth and love, and then suddenly doubt everything just because his sister planted a seed of suspicion?

The most painful part? She still wanted him.

And Khalid? He had no idea how to fix things. Ayeesha had moved on - probably convinced she had done him a favor - but that only meant the topic was off-limits now. He couldn't bring it up without looking like he was still thinking about it. But the silence between him and Demi was unbearable. And Khalid was not the type of man who could sit with regret for too long.

So he did something he never did. He swallowed his pride. And he texted her.

Khalid: Can we talk?

Demi saw the message, rolled her eyes, and ignored it for a full three hours or three days - can't really remember. Then she replied.

Demi: About?

Khalid: You know what about.

Demi's heart pounded. She could block him. She could tell him to go to hell. She could throw her phone into the ocean and live a peaceful, distraction-free life. Instead, she typed:

Demi: Fine. Where?

They met at a quiet caf� - neutral territory. Khalid looked different. Not bad, just? tired. Demi? She looked like she had something to prove. The raw silk scarf, the glittering gold bangles, and the five yards of brocade that was used to sew this gown screamed young, rich, and killing it. And what smelled delicious? Yup, you guessed right. Princess Demi.

He sat down first. She sat across from him, arms folded.

"Talk," she said.

He exhaled. "I messed up."

Demi arched a brow. "You think?"

"I shouldn't have let Ayeesha get in my head like that."

"You shouldn't have," she agreed.

"I don't think you're a gold digger."

Demi scoffed. "Congratulations. Want a cookie? "

Khalid's mouth twitched - like he wanted to smile. Demi wasn't amused.

"You really hurt me, Khalid," she admitted, voice quieter now. "I would have answered you. If you had just asked me, I would have told you the truth. But you didn't even give me the chance."

Khalid swallowed. "I know."

Demi inhaled sharply. "And for the record, yeah, I want to marry rich. But not just for money. I want a good life. I want love and stability. Besides, who doesn't?"

Silence.

Then Khalid reached across the table, but Demi pulled her hand back. His fingers curled into a fist. This wasn't going to be easy. Good.

"I'm sorry, Demi. Let me fix this."

She tilted her head, unimpressed. "Fix what, exactly? Your ego? Or the damage you did?"

His throat worked. "You. Us. If there's still an 'us.'"

Demi let out a dry laugh. "Khalid, you let me walk away like I was disposable. You let me hurt alone. And now, after what - weeks? - you think one apology fixes everything?"

"No." His voice was firm now. "I don't. But I'll prove it. I'll show you that I deserve you. If you let me."

She studied him, looking for cracks, for insincerity. He didn't waver. Damn him.

Demi sighed, leaning back in her chair. "I haven't decided if you're worth the effort."

His lips twitched. "Then I'll just have to convince you."

She clicked her tongue, pretending to deliberate. Then, finally, she grabbed the menu and smirked.

"You're paying for my coffee. And my dessert. And I want extra whipped cream."

Khalid grinned, relief flickering in his eyes. "Gladly."

They weren't fixed. Not even close. But they weren't broken beyond repair, either.

And for now, that was enough.