We stepped out of the old hall into the orange-blushed evening. The air was colder now, gentler, brushing past like silk against my skin. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
I had tucked my hands into the sleeves of my cardigan, the book's faded scent still lingering in my senses. The silence between us wasn't awkward this time. It was something else. Like we'd both seen something ancient, touched something sacred — and didn't want to disturb its echo.
Ahad walked slightly ahead, then slowed down as if to match my pace.
I glanced at him.
He really had said sorry.
And not in a sarcastic, Ahad-kind-of-way. A real apology. One that made my heart do this strange twisting motion I wasn't ready to admit to myself.
I looked away quickly, pretending to fix my sleeve.
But my mind… it didn't cooperate.
It went back — to that moment today. Hafiz's voice. His grip. That ugly anger in his eyes. And then—
Ahad.
Ahad stepping in between.
Ahad throwing the first punch.
Ahad bleeding.
He'd fought for me.
Not for drama. Not for attention. But because he'd seen something I hadn't: the danger behind Hafiz's smile.
I stole a side glance at him again. The bruise on his jaw had darkened a little. His hair was slightly ruffled from all the chaos, but he didn't seem to care. His hands were in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes fixed ahead — as if deep in thought, or maybe pretending not to notice I kept looking at him.
I looked away again, my lips pressing into a thin line.
What was this?
What was he?
The boy who mocked me, annoyed me, argued with me… had just stood up for me like I meant something.
Maybe I did.
To him.
That thought sat too loud in my chest.
"You're quiet," he said suddenly, without looking at me.
I blinked. "Just tired."
He nodded, as if he didn't believe me but wasn't going to press.
We reached the corner where the lane split — one road winding toward his home, the other down toward mine.
He stopped, hands still buried in his jacket. "You sure you're good?"
I looked up at him. His voice was steady, but his eyes weren't. They searched my face like he was trying to read more than I was willing to say.
"Yeah," I whispered. "I'm good."
He gave a short nod, then turned, walking off without waiting for more.
But halfway down his lane, he glanced back once — just for a second.
And when he did…
I was already watching him.
I looked away before he could catch me.
But I knew.
He had already seen.
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