AHAD'S POV
Almeida's fingers stopped at a thick, moss-green book lying on the center table — its cover cracked, the title barely visible.
"Iman," he said softly, turning toward her. "Would you mind reading a bit? Just see what's inside."
She stepped forward, almost cautiously. I watched her fingers tremble slightly as she opened it, and her eyes quickly fell into the faded script. Her lips moved, silently mouthing the words. In that moment, she looked like she belonged here — part of the stillness, part of the past.
"Ahad," Almeida said suddenly, turning toward me, his tone firmer now. "Come with me. Just a moment."
I followed him to the side of the hall, near the broken window where the air was colder and carried the scent of old stone and leaves. I knew what was coming. Or maybe I didn't.
He folded his arms, and for a second, he just looked at me — not like a professor or a principal, but something older. Wiser. Disappointed.
"You do understand what happened today was not... acceptable?" he began.
I said nothing.
"A fight? At Tower C? Blood on your collar? That's not who we raise in these halls, Ahad."
I looked down at the floor. "He deserved it."
"That's not your decision to make." His voice sharpened. "You think protecting someone gives you the right to lose control? You're cleverer than that. You are better than that."
The words landed heavier than I expected. He didn't shout. That made it worse.
He sighed, softer now. "Iman… she's delicate."
I raised my eyes. That word again.
"You might not see it, but I do. She's like a granddaughter to me. If anything ever hurt her — physically, emotionally — it would destroy more than just her peace. It would break mine too."
I swallowed, but the knot in my throat stayed.
Then, my eyes slowly drifted back to her. She was sitting on the ground now, cross-legged, book open in her lap, lips moving silently. The light caught in her hair. The dust shimmered around her like mist.
I hated how something tugged in my chest. I told myself it was just the atmosphere, just the old room doing strange things to my head.
Almeida cleared his throat, and I jerked slightly.
"You two can come here whenever you wish," he said, his voice back to the usual warmth. "The library's yours now. You're in high school — that means you've got time. And more importantly, you've got the mind to discover the truth."
"Truth?" I asked, confused.
He only smiled.
"You'll see."
And then, without another word, he stepped past the fallen bookshelf and left through the narrow door, his footsteps echoing across the stone floor.
I stayed where I was for a second longer… then turned to look back at Iman.
Still reading.
Still glowing in the silence.
And I was still pretending I didn't feel what I did.
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