By the time they reached the apartment complex, the sky had already turned mix of blue, orange and purple.Lights glowed across balconies.
Television sounds drifted through open windows.
Children still played near the pathways despite parents yelling from upstairs.
Normal evening life.
But beside Shalini—
Zeema walked in complete silence.
Not her usual silence.
Not the calm, distant quietness everyone around her had slowly gotten used to.
This felt different.
Colder.
Sharper.
The kind of silence that made people instinctively move aside without understanding why.
Even strangers crossing past them unconsciously lowered their voices.
Like the atmosphere around her had changed temperature.
Shalini stayed beside her quietly.
Not speaking anymore.
Because after what happened outside the university—
even she didn't know what to say.
Near the entrance of their apartment building, Arjun suddenly stopped walking.
"Zeema."
She paused.
Slowly looking toward him.
For one brief second, even Arjun felt it.
That chill underneath her expression.
Still—
he smiled gently anyway.
"Tomorrow," he said lightly, "bring the cats and kittens to the park for a little while."
A pause.
"Adhi has emotionally attached himself already."
One of his friends sighed dramatically behind him.
"He already asked Amma if we can adopt one."
Another pause.
Then Arjun looked back at Zeema again.
Still smiling softly.
"Goodbye."
And just like that—
he walked away with his friends.
Not forcing conversation.
Not asking questions.
Not looking at the fading red mark near her cheek again.
For some reason—
that made Shalini feel even sadder.
Beside her, Zeema said nothing.
She simply turned and walked into the building.
The elevator ride felt unnaturally quiet.
When they finally entered the apartment, the smell of food drifted from the kitchen immediately.
John looked up from the stove the moment they entered.
His eyes landed on Zeema first.
Then—
the faint mark on her cheek.
Everything about him changed instantly.
Not loudly.
Worse.
Quietly.
His entire expression became still.
Cold enough to make the room feel smaller.
But before he could say anything—
Zeema walked past him calmly.
"I have work," she said flatly.
Then she entered her study room and locked the door.
Click.
Silence.
Even Ginger and Candy stopped fighting mid-fight near the sofa.
Both cats stared toward the closed study door.
Suspicious.
The apartment remained quiet for a few seconds.
Then John slowly looked toward Shalini.
"What happened?"
His voice remained calm.
Too calm.
Shalini swallowed once.
Then quietly—
she told him everything.
The university gate.
The woman.
The slap.
The threat.
Every word.
As she spoke, the apartment seemed to grow colder.
John said nothing the entire time.
He simply listened.
Still standing near the kitchen counter.
One hand resting against it.
Expression unreadable.
Only his eyes changed.
Little by little.
Until even Shalini felt nervous looking at him.
By the time she finished speaking, silence filled the apartment again.
From inside the study room—
nothing.
No movement.
No sound.
Meanwhile, inside the locked room, Zeema sat alone in her chair facing the ceiling.
Still wearing her college ID card.
Bag dropped carelessly near the desk.
The room remained dark except for the small study lamp beside her.
For the first time that day—
emotion finally showed across her face.
Not sadness.
Not exactly.
Anger sat there quietly.
Cold.
Controlled.
Underneath it—
fear.
Old fear.
The kind learned years ago.
But buried somewhere deeper—
something else existed too.
A small, dangerous kind of pride.
Because this time—
she had not stayed silent.
she didn't let the witch control her.Eventually, exhaustion pulled heavier against her body.
Her eyes closed slowly.
And sometime between anger and thought—
Zeema fell asleep in the chair itself.
Outside, John finally looked toward the study room door once more.
Something harsh moved briefly across his expression.
Cruel enough to frighten people if they saw it fully.
But then he noticed Shalini still standing there.
Quiet.
Uneasy.
Scared.
Immediately, he buried it again.
Control returning piece by piece.
"Go freshen up," he said calmly.
Shalini hesitated.
"But Zeema—"
"She needs time."
His tone left no room for argument.
After a moment, Shalini nodded slowly and walked toward her room.
John stayed in the kitchen alone for another few seconds.
Silent.
Thinking.
Then he opened a refrigerator and took out a box of blueberries he had bought earlier that afternoon.
Carefully washing them one by one.
Like he needed something small and gentle to hold onto before his anger became something far worse.
When Shalini came back out after washing her face, the apartment smelled warmer now.
Garlic.
Pepper.
Something frying slowly in oil.
John stood near the stove quietly cooking like nothing had happened.
Too normal.
That somehow felt stranger.
On the counter beside him sat a bowl of freshly washed blueberries.
The moment he noticed Shalini entering the kitchen, he pushed the bowl slightly toward her.
"Eat," he said simply.
Shalini blinked once.
Then slowly walked over and took the bowl.
The blueberries were cold from the refrigerator.
Fresh.
Small.
like gholies.
The kind of thing people offered when they did not know how to comfort someone properly.
She sat near the counter quietly eating a few while John continued cooking without speaking much.
The soft sound of oil crackling filled the silence between them.
From down the hallway, Zeema's study room remained completely quiet.
No movement.
No sound.
Even Ginger had stopped scratching the door and fallen asleep nearby like some tiny security guard.
Shalini looked toward the hallway once.
Then back at John.
Something had been bothering her ever since the university.
Finally, she spoke carefully.
"I thought Zeema was an orphan."
John paused.
Only for one second.
The spoon in his hand stopped moving briefly before continuing again.
Slowly.
Controlled.
Shalini immediately realized she had touched something sensitive.
"She never talks about her parents," Shalini added more quietly.
John lowered the stove flame slightly before answering.
"I'm still trying to understand what actually happened to her when she was a child."
His voice stayed calm.
But underneath it—
anger existed there.
Heavy.
Contained with effort.
And something sadder too.
The kind of sadness that came from realizing damage too late.
Shalini stayed silent.
John rarely spoke about Zeema directly.
Especially not like this.
After a moment, he continued quietly while looking at the pan instead of her.
"When I met her properly for the first time…"
A pause.
"She already knew how to hide fear too well."
Something about that sentence made the apartment feel even quieter.
Shalini slowly lowered the blueberry in her hand.
John exhaled once softly before continuing.
"She was always careful."
"Too careful."
"About food."
"About noise."
"About people touching her things."
His grip around the spoon tightened slightly.
"Children do not become like that naturally."
The words landed heavily inside the kitchen.
From the hallway, the closed study room door remained still.
Shalini suddenly remembered the way Zeema always checked locks twice before sleeping.
The way she never wasted food.
The way loud arguments immediately changed her expression.
Things she had noticed before—
but never fully questioned.
John finally turned off the stove.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke again.
Then quietly—
"She threatened her mother today," Shalini said carefully.
John gave a short humorless laugh.
"That woman probably deserved worse."
The coldness in his voice startled her slightly.
He noticed immediately.
A second later, his expression softened again.
Barely.
"I'm sorry," he said more calmly. "You should not have seen any of that."
Shalini shook her head slowly.
"I'm more worried about Zeema."
At that—
John finally looked toward the hallway too.
Toward the closed study room door.
His voice lowered when he spoke again.
"So am I."
Around one in the morning—
Zeema woke up abruptly.
For one horrible second, she did not recognize where she was.
Dark room.
Uneven breathing.
Her heart pounding hard enough to hurt.
The nightmare still clung to her skin like something alive.
Salt pressed painfully beneath her knees.
Her mother's voice cold and sharp above her.
The sound of the whip cutting through air.
Again.
Again.
Again.
"Not good enough."
"How will anyone love someone like you?"
"You cannot even do simple things properly."
The memories came in broken flashes.
Her small hands shaking.
Knees bleeding against the salt scattered across the floor.
Begging quietly because crying louder only made things worse.
And her mother standing there perfectly calm while hurting her.
Like punishment was simply another household responsibility.
Zeema inhaled sharply.
The study room slowly returned around her piece by piece.
Desk.
Lamp.
Chair.
Dark walls.
Present.
Not past.
Her breathing steadied little by little.
But sleep no longer felt possible.
After what felt like an enternity nearly ninety minutes of sitting silently in the dark, Zeema finally stood up and unlocked the study room door carefully.
The apartment remained completely quiet.
Soft yellow light from the kitchen still glowed faintly.
Near the study door, Ginger lay curled into himself asleep on the floor mat.
The moment Zeema walked closer, one ear twitched lazily.
Still half asleep.
Without speaking, she bent down and picked him up gently.
Ginger immediately melted against her chest without resistance.
Trusting.
Warm.
Zeema carried him toward the sofa and placed him carefully against the armrest of the single sofa.
Ginger stretched once dramatically before falling asleep again within seconds.
Emotionally unemployed.
Only then did Zeema notice someone else.
John.
He was lying awkwardly across the sofa.
One arm folded beneath his head.
Blanket half slipping onto the floor.
The sofa was clearly too small for him.
His feet in air.
Like he had fallen asleep while waiting outside her study room without realizing it.
For a few seconds, Zeema simply looked at him quietly.
Then looked away again.
Without waking him, she walked toward the dining area and switched on the small kitchen light.
Dim yellow light filled the space softly.
She moved silently out of habit.
Opened the cabinet.
Took the coffee powder.
Boiled water.
Every movement precise.
Controlled.
Safe.
The familiar routine helped steady the leftover shaking inside her hands.
Just as she poured the coffee into a mug—
movement came from the living room.
John woke up immediately.
Not slowly.
Instantly.
Years of light sleeping.
He sat up halfway before his eyes landed on Zeema standing near the counter.
For one brief second, relief crossed his face so quickly most people would have missed it.
"You're awake," he said quietly.
Zeema gave a small nod.
John looked toward the clock automatically.
2:27 AM.
Then his eyes moved toward the coffee mug in her hand.
"You should sleep."
"I tried."
Her voice sounded calm again.
Too calm.
John studied her silently for a moment.
The faint shadows under her eyes.
The stiffness in her shoulders.
The way her fingers tightened slightly around the mug.
Nightmare.
He understood immediately.
But he did not say it aloud.
Instead, he stood up slowly from the sofa and walked toward the kitchen.
"You made coffee at two in the morning," he said mildly.
"Yes."
"That feels medically irresponsible."
"It is effective."
John exhaled softly through his nose.
Almost a laugh.
Almost not.
For a few seconds, silence settled again between them.
Comfortable in a tired kind of way.
Then quietly—
"Do you want food?"
Zeema blinked once.
"No."
"You haven't eaten properly since afternoon."
"I am not hungry."
John leaned against the counter slightly.
Still watching her carefully.
Not pushing too hard.
Not backing away either.
Finally, he spoke again.
"You used to do this when you were younger too."
A pause.
"After nightmares."
Zeema's fingers stilled slightly against the mug.
John's voice remained calm.
"You'd stay awake all night because you thought sleeping again would bring the same dream back."
The kitchen suddenly felt quieter.
Somewhere behind them, Ginger snored softly from the sofa like a useless old man.
Zeema lowered her eyes toward the coffee for a moment.
Then finally asked quietly—
"How long were you outside the study room?"
John answered honestly.
"Since you locked the door."
That made something shift briefly across her expression.
Small.
Difficult to read.
Guilt maybe.
Or something softer.
John noticed.
But pretended not to.
Instead, he walked past her calmly, opened the refrigerator, and took out a container Graps (her favorite).
"You're eating something," he decided.
Zeema stared at him.
"...Graps will not solve trauma."
"No," John agreed calmly.
"But low blood sugar will make everything worse."