It wasn't just the "I love you" that burned me alive.
It wasn't even the fact that he said it—because she's been proposed to before. Many times, actually. Boys at school, strangers with half-baked feelings, or crushes mistaking infatuation for love. She always walked away with her chin held high and her silence louder than a hundred rejections. That was Iman.
But this was different.
Hafiz's words weren't just a confession.
They were a threat wrapped in obsession.
They screamed: If you don't say yes, I'll destroy everything around you.
That wasn't love. That was control disguised as passion.
I saw it in the way he stepped too close, his voice lowering with intensity, his fingers twitching like they ached to own her. Like he had some right over her emotions.
And she—she just stood there, frozen. The girl who never lets her guard down had her shields shattered in a moment.
She wasn't scared of his love.
She was scared of his reaction if she didn't return it.
I knew that look. The tight lips. The clenched jaw. The eyes darting side to side like she wanted to vanish.
Iman never feared rejection—she feared chaos.
And Hafiz was chaos.
So when he gripped her wrist as if his heart depended on her answer, I didn't just see a guy being rejected—I saw a man trying to overpower the one girl who should never be made to feel small.
My blood roared.
It wasn't jealousy.
It was rage.
And guilt—guilt that I let her face this without me.
That she stood there cornered while I was still yards away, storming into the park too late.
But not late enough.
I caught it.
The moment his fingers dug too deep, the moment her shoulders flinched, the moment fear danced in her eyes like flickering flames.
Mine.
That's all my heart screamed.
She's mine to protect—not own. Not cage. Not demand. But protect.
My fists curled, ready to remind him that real love doesn't grab, it guards.
And I was ready to fight, even if the world stood against me—because her silence, her fear, her trust… they were louder than anything Hafiz could ever say.
Ahad's POV – Inside the Library
The scent of aging paper filled the room—a mix of musty pages and quiet stories too old to be remembered by anyone but the walls. Dust clung to everything, but the light that streamed through the high stained windows gave it a strange kind of peace. Like this place didn't mind being forgotten.
Iman sat near the window, her back slightly hunched, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the grain of the wooden seat. She hadn't said much since we entered, and honestly, I hadn't expected her to. Shanzay was close, her arms crossed, protective as always. Her silence wasn't like Iman's. It was louder. Sharper. She was still shaken. Still fuming beneath that calm exterior.
I leaned on the edge of the desk where I'd placed Iman's lunch, letting the quiet speak for a few moments.
"You know," I finally said, voice low but soft, "I thought this place smelled like death when I first found it."
Shanzay blinked, then rolled her eyes slightly. "Still does."
Iman didn't smile, but I saw the tiniest lift in her brow. That was something.
I kept going. "Turns out it was just one of the rats that got stuck in the walls back then. Poor guy probably tried to escape all this wisdom and failed."
That made Shanzay huff through her nose. "Dramatic much?"
"I live for drama," I replied with a mock bow. "But today's show was... a little much even for me."
I glanced at Iman. She was still staring down, lost in thought.
"I—" she finally began, then stopped herself. Her voice was dry, barely a whisper. "I didn't know he'd... do that. That he'd go that far."
"You don't have to explain anything," I said, gently. "None of that was your fault."
"I froze," she whispered. "I didn't even react when he held my wrist. I just... froze."
Shanzay scooted closer, placing her hand lightly over Iman's. "You didn't have to react. You were scared. That's human."
Before I could say anything else, the door creaked open—Zaffar and Hamid slipped inside. Zaffar's hoodie was still dusted from the scuffle, and Hamid was rubbing his knuckles like he'd punched a wall too hard.
"Hey," Zaffar said with a half-smile. "Library reunion?"
Shanzay narrowed her eyes. "About time you two showed up."
"We were chasing off the last two from Hafiz's crew," Hamid said. "Zaffar took one down with a flying kick. You missed it."
"Lies. I tripped," Zaffar said, flopping into a nearby chair. "But it looked like a flying kick."
There was a short, tired laugh from Shanzay.
Hamid looked around, then sat down beside me. "How's she holding up?"
"She's here," I replied, eyes flicking to Iman. "That's enough."
There was a pause.
Then I turned to her. "You hungry?"
She blinked, then shook her head gently. "No... not yet."
"Mind if I eat it then?" I teased, picking up the lunch bag.
This time, her lips actually moved into a small smile. Just a flicker. But real.
"Touch my food and die," she murmured.
Now that made everyone laugh softly—nervously, maybe, but it felt good.
The library felt a little warmer. A little less haunted.
And I swore to myself: no matter how many times Hafiz came back, no matter how many fists it took, he would never touch her again. Not her wrist. Not her voice. Not even her shadow.
Because in this forgotten corner of the world, surrounded by dusty books and old friends, she finally looked safe.
And I'd burn the rest of the world to keep it that way.