She sat by the window, knees pulled up to her chest, chin resting on them. The curtains fluttered against her arm like a soft apology.
The room was dim. The kind of dim that made everything feel unreal — like she wasn't in her body, just floating somewhere above it.
There was a knock.
Soft. Three taps.
Then a pause.
Zain.
He never barged in. Never pushed.
She didn't answer. But after a moment, the door creaked open anyway — slow, gentle. He didn't say anything when he saw her sitting there. Just walked in, dropped a snack bar on the table like always, and sat on the floor, back against her bed.
It was quiet for a while.
And it was… safe.
Not peaceful. She didn't know what that felt like anymore. But quiet was close enough.
"You didn't show up for class," he said eventually. Not accusing. Just… noticing.
She shrugged.
"Wasn't feeling it."
He nodded. That was it.
She wanted to thank him for not asking why.
Because why would unravel things she wasn't ready to say out loud.
Why meant explaining things she hadn't even admitted to herself.
Why meant Abeer.
No. Not yet.
Zain stayed for twenty-three minutes. She counted. Then he left without a word, like always.
Fifteen minutes later, her phone buzzed.
> Junaid: "Skipped class huh?
We crying, spiraling, or just lazy today?"
She stared at the message.
And despite everything — a breath escaped her lips. Not a laugh. But close.
Her fingers hovered.
> Me: "Mix of all three."
He replied instantly.
> Junaid: "Solid. Want me to come over and distract you with my painfully attractive face?"
Me: "No."
Junaid: "Hurtful."
She stared at his texts for a long while. Then locked her phone and leaned her head against the glass.
From the outside, it looked like a quiet evening.
But inside?
Her chest felt like a locked drawer someone kept jiggling the key to.
And no one knew what was inside yet.
Not Zain.
Not Alzan.
Not even Junaid.
And maybe that was the only reason she was still standing.
Because if they knew —
She wasn't sure they'd look at her the same.
The room was too still after she locked her phone.
Like it was waiting.
She stood up, moved toward her desk with no real reason, and just… stood there.
Looking at her things — the notes she never touched, the pen without a cap, the crumpled wrapper from a protein bar Zain had brought her last week.
Everything was still where she left it.
But nothing felt in place.
Her fingers traced the edge of the table, slow. Mechanical.
Like if she touched enough things, something inside her would click back together.
She didn't hear the knock this time — just the door creak.
Junaid.
Of course it was Junaid.
He stepped in with that stupid confidence that only he could carry. Hoodie thrown over one shoulder, hair a mess like he'd fought gravity on the way here.
He looked around.
"Wow. This is… depressing."
He grinned.
"Did you light a candle at least? Pretend you're emotionally stable?"
She turned around, arms crossed, one brow raised.
"I said no."
"Yeah. I heard you."
He plopped himself onto her bed like it was his.
"I just decided to ignore it."
She hated that he could do that.
March into her space like it didn't ache.
Talk like the air wasn't thick with things unsaid.
But she also hated how it helped.
She sat back at the desk, back to him, pretending to scroll through something important.
The silence stretched between them again.
"Zain was here." he said suddenly.
She blinked, but didn't respond.
"He doesn't say much, huh?"
"That's the point," she murmured.
There was a pause. Then:
"Alzan's been looking at you different lately."
She tensed.
"What does that mean?"
Junaid didn't answer immediately. She could practically feel the shrug behind her.
"Just… different. Like he knows something we don't."
Her spine straightened without meaning to.
"He doesn't."
Her voice was firm.
"No one does."
The room felt colder.
She heard Junaid shift on the bed.
"You know you don't have to do this alone, right?"
His voice was softer now. Not teasing. Not loud.
She didn't answer.
She couldn't.
He stood up. Walked over slowly, stopping just behind her. Not touching. Not pushing.
"You can let someone in, sunshine."
His voice was just above a whisper now.
"We won't run."
She clenched her jaw, still not turning to face him.
"But what if I do?"
Her voice broke on the last word.
Junaid didn't flinch.
He just placed a single wrapped candy on the desk in front of her — her favorite.
"Then we'll find you again."
He smiled.
"And I'll annoy the hell out of you until you come back."
Then he left.
No drama. No questions. Just… that.
She stared at the candy for a long time after the door closed.
And for the first time that night,
she let her shoulders drop.
Not peace.
Not healing.
But maybe… a crack in the armor.
A beginning.
It was early. The sun hadn't fully risen yet, but the sky was that pale grey blue, the kind that looked tired before the day even began.
She slipped on a hoodie and left her room in silence.
No phone. No plans. No noise.
She didn't know where she was going. She just needed to move.
The courtyard was empty.
One bench.
One tree.
One boy sitting under it.
Of course it was Zain.
Because apparently, the universe was done being subtle.
He looked up as she approached — but didn't smile. Didn't greet her. Just scooted over without a word, making space on the bench.
She hesitated. Then sat.
A bird chirped somewhere above them. The breeze picked up, brushing her hair against her face. She didn't fix it.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Same."
They sat in silence. Not the warm kind — the watchful kind.
Like the air itself was holding its breath.
"You don't talk much," she said.
Zain gave a barely-there shrug.
"Neither do you."
She looked at him, brow furrowed.
"You always sit with me like you're waiting for something I won't say."
He didn't argue. Just stared ahead at nothing.
"Maybe I am."
Her heart twitched.
"What does that mean?"
He turned his face toward her. Calm. Solid.
"It means I'm here. Even when you're quiet."
She stood up. Instinctively. Like the walls were closing in.
"You don't get it."
"I don't need to," he said, soft and level.
"I'm not here to fix anything."
She stayed frozen.
"Then why are you always… watching me?"
Zain didn't hesitate.
"Because I notice when your hands shake when you're trying to drink water."
His voice never wavered.
"When you laugh too quickly — like you're trying to prove you're okay. When you flinch at sudden footsteps."
Her throat tightened.
"You don't know anything."
He looked up at her again, gently.
"No. I don't.
But don't lie and say it's nothing.
Because something in you's fighting to breathe."
She hated how still he was.
How he didn't try to touch her.
Didn't try to "make it better."
He just… stayed.
"You don't say much," she whispered.
"Words aren't always safe."
He said it like he'd lived it.
She stared at him.
His hoodie was pulled low, and there was a scar across the inside of his wrist — small, faded. A detail most would miss.
She sat back down.
"I don't know how to be touched without flinching."
She hadn't meant to say it. But it slipped out like breath.
Zain didn't even blink.
"Then don't be. Not until you're ready."
Silence again.
But now it felt… quieter in a good way.
Not peace.
Not healing.
But maybe… a space where she didn't have to lie.
They sat there.
Two people who didn't speak much.
And somehow, said everything.