The silence of the street is a living thing, wrapped in the soft, steady hush of falling snow. Under the shared shelter of the umbrella, the world narrows to the space where our shoulders almost touch.
I watch our feet move in tandem, leaving twin sets of prints in the pristine white.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
His voice, when it comes, is as soft as the snow settling around us.
"Where's your driver?"
I look up, feigning confusion.
Then —
A perfect, wicked idea blooms. I let it shape my face into smooth, innocent lines.
"He texted me," I lie, the words flowing with practiced ease.
"He's stuck somewhere because of the snow. Can't come."
Deniz's eyes stay on me, searching. Trying to find the crack in the performance.
"Is that so?"
I nod, the picture of helplessness. "Yes. Now... I don't know where to go."
