The heavy door closed behind Almeida, his footsteps fading into the stone corridor.
I turned, half expecting Iman to still be curled over that book. But she wasn't.
She had placed it gently aside on a broken bench and was now walking slowly through the hall, fingertips grazing the jagged edges of old bookshelves, pausing occasionally to stare at cracked portraits or broken busts. Her eyes were wide, filled with the kind of wonder you can't fake.
A smile tugged at my lips.
There was something oddly endearing about her curiosity — like a child wandering into a place whispered about in bedtime stories. The kind of child who never really believed the stories… until they stepped into one.
I took a few steps forward, quietly, not wanting to break her trance. But the floor creaked beneath me, and she turned sharply.
I cleared my throat.
Her eyebrows rose. Busted.
"You okay?" I asked, keeping my tone soft. She looked startled for a moment, but then nodded. Still, there was something unreadable in her eyes.
I walked a little closer. "Look… you don't have to worry about Hafiz. Or about what happened today."
She blinked.
"I'm here," I added. "With you. That's what matters. And no one's touching you. Not when I'm around."
Her expression shifted slightly, lips parting just a little, unsure whether to be angry or… grateful. Or both.
I ran a hand through my hair, suddenly aware of how close we were standing in the stillness of the hall. "I also wanted to say something else."
I paused. The words didn't come easy. They never did.
"That thing I said the last time — about you having Hafiz. That wasn't fair." My voice lowered. "It was... petty. And I'm sorry."
There was a beat of silence.
Iman stared at me as if I'd just grown another head.
"What?" she said finally, blinking. "You? Sorry?"
I smirked. "I know. It sounds wrong coming from me, right?"
She didn't answer. Just kept staring like I'd flipped the entire school upside down.
"Don't look at me like that," I said with a crooked grin. "You literally slapped me . Maybe that slap rewired something in my brain."
A laugh — a real one — escaped her before she could stop it. She quickly covered her mouth, cheeks flushing.
"You deserved that slap," she muttered.
"No arguments there," I replied, grinning wider. "Might've even been the highlight of your week."
Her lips twitched.
I took another step, just enough that our shadows touched on the dusty floor.
And in that moment, with centuries of forgotten stories breathing around us and silence holding its breath — something between us felt dangerously close to shifting.
---