I didn't go to school that morning.
I didn't have to.
Malik left the house with his backpack slung over one shoulder, cheerful as always. I watched him from the window, tracing his steps down the street. Every flick of his hair, every bounce in his stride, every laugh he threw at a passing friend—it was recorded in my mind. I memorized it all.
Normal was terrifying.
By mid-morning, I was outside the school gates, hidden behind a row of hedges. My backpack sat heavy against my shoulder, empty of books, full of notebooks where I documented his life. Names, times, movements. Minor accidents. Words spoken. Every sentence a potential trigger.
I scribbled furiously:
"Malik waves at Aisha at 9:17."
"Tripped over his shoelace at 10:03."
And beneath it all, a gnawing thought: It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
It was my own paranoia whispering, but I couldn't ignore it.
A teacher brushed past me. Light contact, almost accidental. But my skin flinched. And then… the sentence:
"She will destroy everything she loves."
I dropped the notebook. My hands shook violently. My stomach roiled. I wanted to scream, to hit something, to shake the air itself and demand it stop.
I didn't.
Because I knew that even thinking about it too loudly might make it real.
The rest of the day passed like a nightmare stitched from glass.
I followed him everywhere. Every glance he threw my way felt heavy with suspicion. Every interaction with friends made me flinch, because I didn't know which moment would spark the sentence into reality.
And the worst part? I started to notice the distance forming. He was avoiding my gaze. His laugh didn't reach me anymore. He didn't run up to me after class. He moved around me like I was a storm cloud waiting to burst.
I hated myself for it.
That evening, I sat in my room, clutching the notebook.
The sentences kept coming. Not from Malik this time. From the people around him. From myself.
"She will destroy everything she loves."
"He will hate her."
"It's already too late."
I tried to breathe through them. Tried to ignore the creeping panic.
I could feel the shadows stretching across my walls, wrapping around me. Every sound became a threat. The house creaked. The wind tapped against the windows. Even Malik's soft steps on the stairs sounded like footsteps of doom.
And I knew, without thinking, that I couldn't leave him.
Not for a second.
Not for a breath.
Because every second I did was another chance for the future to twist.
By nightfall, I realized I had become something I didn't recognize.
Not just Amara. Not the sister he had known for ten years.
I had become a shadow of fear, a guardian twisted into obsession.
And somewhere inside, I knew it.
That no matter how carefully I watched, no matter how closely I followed, the cracks were already forming.
Because protecting him wasn't keeping him safe.
It was putting him in danger.