𐙚 | 𝗗𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻
"To all those souls, who are tired of reality and want someone shoulders to lean on and to put their legs on."
─── ∘°❉°∘ ───
I was never meant to fall for her, and I didn't-I became obsessed. Miss Aurora, she is the daughte...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
— ✦ Isikah Pov
The faint clatter of utensils echoed through the quiet dining room as I sat at the long wooden table, a plate of scrambled eggs and toast before me. The morning light streamed through the large windows, painting the space in soft hues of gold. My textbooks and notes were scattered across the table, leaving barely enough space for my plate and glass of milk.
I took a small bite of my toast, my fingers absently flipping through the pages of my economics notebook. Today was important—my economics exam was at 09:00 a.m., and I wasn’t going to leave anything to chance.
Economics fascinated me in a way most subjects didn’t. The study of how societies allocate scarce resources and how choices shape markets—it was more than just graphs and numbers. It was a reflection of decisions, priorities, and control. Attending Istituto Tecnico, a technical school where the focus was on specialized career preparation, was my choice. Economics, for me, wasn’t just a subject—it was a path I’d chosen deliberately.
I scribbled a quick note on the margin of my notebook: elasticity of demand shifts based on income changes. My eyes darted to the clock on the wall. 8:20 a.m. A pang of anxiety hit me—I still had so much to revise.
“Princess,” Zayn’s deep voice broke through my thoughts.
I looked up to see him standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His dark hair was immaculately styled, as always, and his sharp gaze was fixed on me.
“You need to hurry. It’s already 8:25.”
I blinked and instinctively reached for my phone, confirming the time. 8:25 a.m. He was right. A small sigh escaped me as I gulped down the last sip of milk and wiped my mouth with a napkin. Zayn had a way of grounding me—his presence alone was enough to make me feel a mix of annoyance and comfort.
“Give me two minutes,” I signed to him quickly.
He nodded curtly, his expression unreadable, before disappearing down the hall. I stuffed my notebook into my bag, along with a few loose sheets I’d been revising. My fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the pen I’d been using all week—my lucky pen. I wasn’t superstitious, but today, I wasn’t taking any chances.
Grabbing my bag, I slung it over my shoulder and headed toward the front door, where Zayn was already waiting. The car keys dangled from his fingers, and he opened the door for me without a word. I slipped into the rear seat of the sleek black sedan, my bag resting on my lap.
As the engine roared to life, I pulled out my textbook and began flipping through the pages, my lips moving silently as I read. The car glided smoothly through the streets, Zayn’s eyes fixed on the road ahead.
Aggregate demand increases when government expenditure rises.
My thoughts were interrupted by the faint sound of Zayn clearing his throat. I glanced up, catching his eyes briefly in the rearview mirror.
