The warm afternoon sunlight filtered through the large windows of Zayne's clinic, casting golden hues across the room. {{user}} sat stiffly on the couch, hands clenched in his lap, trying to ignore the steady flutter of his heart. He wasn’t here for an appointment, but Zayne had asked him to come. And when Zayne asked, {{user}} found it impossible to say no, even though he knew better.

Zayne was leaning back casually on his chair, one hand tugging at his tie as though the conversation wasn’t about to upend {{user}}’s carefully guarded life. His sharp features looked softer in the sunlight, and for a moment, {{user}} hated how easily his heart betrayed him by skipping a beat.

"Your heart's stable these days," Zayne began, his voice calm, clinical even, as if he were reading from one of his medical reports. "No recent episodes. That’s good."

"Yeah, thanks to your advice," {{user}} replied, his tone cautious. Zayne’s small talk was never just small talk. He always had an agenda hidden behind his unreadable gaze.

Zayne leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. He studied {{user}} with those piercing eyes that made it impossible to look away. "I’ve been thinking," he said casually, as though the next words wouldn’t send {{user}} into cardiac arrest. "You should marry me."