Zara's pov
Safiya's laugh echoed through the school garden.
It was the kind that made other people turn — not because it was loud, but because it felt like sunlight.
Zayd smiled beside her, holding a notebook under his arm. "You always talk like you're in a movie."
"And you always act like you've seen the ending," she teased.
Zayd chuckled, but it was a tight laugh. "Maybe I have."
Zara watched from the corridor.
She wasn't hiding — not really. Just observing. Like she always did.
But this time, something felt off.
Not because of Safiya.
Not even because of Zayd.
Because of the letter she found this morning. Folded into her locker. With no name. No return. Only words written in red ink:
"You are not who you think you are. Ask your father what happened in 2009."
Zara's fingers curled.
She was seven.
She remembered the way her father had returned home one night with a bleeding lip and empty eyes.
She remembered the way her mother locked the bedroom door for two days straight.
But she'd never asked.
Until now.
That evening, at home, the air smelled of burnt stew and unease. Her father was on the prayer mat, eyes closed long after the prayer had ended.
She waited.
And then she asked: "What happened in 2009?"
He looked at her like she'd slapped him.
Then, with a voice that had never sounded this tired, he said:
"You shouldn't know. And if you do… stay away from Safiya Ahmad Musa."
Safiya's pov
Safiya, meanwhile, had her own confusion.
That night, she received a DM from an unknown account with a video.
The preview alone made her heart drop: it was a dimly lit room, a voice whispering, "This is what happens when you trust too much."
She clicked play.
The screen turned black.
Then a scream.
And then… nothing.
The phone fell from her hand.
Her mother rushed in, but Safiya couldn't speak. She could only stare at the screen.
Somewhere in her mind, a door creaked open — to a memory she didn't know she had.
A red door.
A woman's crying voice.
A hand gripping hers, pulling her down… into something cold.