I didn't want to leave my room.
But I knew I had to.
Malik was outside again, walking along the street that cut behind our house. Even at a distance, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the weight in his steps. He didn't notice me. He barely noticed anyone.
I clenched my fists, trying to steady myself.
"She will break him."
The sentence throbbed in my mind. It wasn't a warning anymore. It was a confirmation.
I had to stop it. Somehow.
I ran after him, careful to stay hidden. My eyes scanned everything — cars, corners, uneven pavement, stray objects. Every risk, no matter how small, was magnified in my mind.
Then I saw it.
A bicycle, abandoned on the sidewalk. Malik stepped forward without looking. His foot caught the pedal.
"Malik!" I shouted, sprinting forward.
He turned just in time — I thought. I grabbed his arm to pull him back. But my panic made my grip too strong. Too fast.
He stumbled. His elbow hit the edge of the metal fence. A sharp cry ripped from his throat.
I froze.
The sentence hit me.
"It wasn't supposed to happen like this."
His arm bled. A thin line of crimson.
I sank to the pavement beside him, shaking, whispering apologies I knew he couldn't hear.
"I… I just wanted to protect you," I sobbed.
He looked at me, eyes wide, chest heaving. "Amara… what… what did you do?"
I couldn't answer.
Because the truth was: I hadn't meant it. I hadn't wanted to hurt him.
But I had.
The world around us fell silent.
Cars passed without notice. A dog barked in the distance. The wind stirred the leaves. But I couldn't hear any of it.
All I could feel was the crack.
The first real, irreversible crack between us.
Later, at home, Malik didn't speak to me. He didn't touch me. He sat at the far end of the couch, arm in a sling, eyes on the floor.
"I don't want to touch you."
The words were softer than a whisper, but they cut through me like a knife.
I realized, fully, that my power wasn't a gift.
It was a curse.
And I had aimed it at the person I loved most.
That night, I sat alone in my room.
The sentences circled my mind:
"She's the reason."
"It's too late."
"I shouldn't have left."
The ripples were spreading faster now. Each minor mistake, each panicked movement, each thought I had created new cracks.
And the worst part?
I could see the wave building.
The storm was coming.
And nothing could stop it.