I didn't make it far.
The hallway blurred as I walked, my chest tight, my thoughts louder than everything around me. I just needed air. Space. Something that didn't feel like I was being slowly erased.
"Samirah."
I stopped.
Of course she followed me.
I turned slowly.
Mrs. Kareem stood a few steps behind me, calm as ever. Composed. Like nothing inside that room had shaken her.
Like she hadn't just watched her son remember someone else.
Like she hadn't just watched me fall apart quietly.
"Can we talk?" she asked.
It didn't sound like a question.
More like a formality.
I nodded once.
There was no point refusing.
She walked past me without waiting, heading toward a quieter part of the corridor. I followed, my steps slower, heavier.
When she stopped, she turned to face me.
Her expression didn't change.
Still cold.
Still certain.
"I'll make this simple," she said.
My fingers curled slightly at my sides.
"Stay away from my son."
There it was.
No pretending.
No politeness.
Just the truth she'd been holding back.
I let out a small breath. "You don't get to decide that."
Her lips curved slightly.
Not a smile.
Something sharper.
"I already have."
My chest tightened.
"He asked me to come back," I said.
"Because he doesn't know any better," she replied smoothly.
That hit.
Hard.
"He will," I said, more firmly this time. "His memory will come back."
She studied me for a second.
Then shook her head slightly.
"You're still hoping for that?"
"Why wouldn't I?" I asked.
"Because hope can be… inconvenient."
The way she said it made something in my stomach twist.
"What do you mean?"
She took a step closer.
Not aggressive.
Just enough to make her words land harder.
"This," she gestured vaguely toward the room behind us, "is an opportunity."
My heart dropped.
"An opportunity?"
"Yes," she said calmly. "One I've been waiting for."
The words didn't make sense.
Not at first.
Then they did.
Slowly.
Painfully.
"You can't be serious," I whispered.
"Oh, I'm very serious."
My chest tightened, anger rising now, pushing past the hurt.
"He's your son."
"And I want what's best for him," she replied without hesitation.
"By controlling his life?" I shot back.
"By correcting a mistake."
The word mistake echoed in my head.
Loud.
Sharp.
"You mean me."
"I mean the marriage he made against my wishes," she said. "Against everything I planned for him."
My throat went dry.
"He chose me."
"Yes," she said simply. "And now he doesn't remember doing that."
Silence fell between us.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
She let that sink in before continuing.
"This is a second chance," she added. "For him to make the right decision."
My hands trembled slightly.
"With Lina?" I asked.
Her gaze didn't waver.
"Lina understands our world. Our expectations. You…" her eyes flicked over me briefly, "do not."
I felt that.
Deep.
But I didn't let it show.
"He loved me," I said.
Her expression didn't change.
"Past tense."
The word felt like a slap.
I swallowed hard. "You don't get to erase that."
"I don't have to," she replied. "His mind already did."
That—
That almost broke me.
But I forced myself to stand still.
To breathe.
To not give her what she wanted.
"He asked me to come back," I repeated quietly.
"And you shouldn't," she said.
"Why?" I challenged.
"Because the more time you spend around him, the more complicated this becomes," she replied. "For you."
A pause.
Then, softer—
"And complications don't end well."
A warning.
Clear.
Direct.
I met her gaze.
"You're threatening me."
"I'm advising you," she corrected smoothly.
My heart pounded.
Because I knew something she didn't.
Or maybe something she was hoping I'd forget.
"He may not remember me," I said slowly, "but he feels something."
For the first time—
Something shifted in her expression.
Small.
But there.
Doubt.
"He asked me to stay," I added.
Her jaw tightened slightly.
"He's confused," she said.
"Or maybe," I countered, "you're afraid he'll remember."
Silence.
Sharp.
Cutting.
Then she smiled.
That same controlled, cold smile.
"If you truly care about him," she said, "you'll walk away."
My chest tightened.
Because that—
That was the hardest part.
Caring about him meant staying.
But it also meant protecting him.
Even from things he didn't understand.
Even from this.
"And if I don't?" I asked quietly.
Her gaze held mine.
Steady.
Unyielding.
"Then you'll lose him anyway."
The words settled deep.
Because part of me—
A small, terrifying part—
Believed her.
I didn't respond.
I couldn't.
She gave a small nod, like the conversation was over.
Like she had already won.
Then she turned and walked away.
Leaving me standing there.
Alone.
Again.
But this time, something felt different.
The hurt was still there.
The fear too.
But underneath it—
Something else had started to grow.
Something stronger.
Because if this was a second chance—
Then it wasn't just his.
It was mine too.
And I wasn't ready to walk away.
Not yet.