Chapter: A Pause Between Wars
Iman's POV
We didn't say much after that.
But something softened — not just the silence, but him.
It felt like we'd been standing on opposite sides of a river, arms crossed, water rushing between us.
And now, maybe, we'd finally built a narrow bridge.
He glanced sideways.
His fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the bench, once, twice. Then:
"So… friends?"
That half-grin of his. Almost boyish. Almost apologetic.
"Best friends, actually," he added quickly, "you know, senior-most honorary badge-holder of my life and stuff."
I rolled my eyes. But I couldn't help the smile tugging at the corner of my lips.
"We never weren't," I replied. "But sometimes... people need a break. Even from best friends."
He looked away for a second.
Then gave a small nod — the kind you give when you understand, but wish you didn't have to.
"Fair," he said. "Just… don't take that long a break again. My brain isn't designed to function without your sarcasm."
"Your brain barely functions with it."
And just like that, the bridge was a little sturdier.
Cracks still visible — but it could carry weight again.
Bell rang.
We walked back to class.
Side by side.
No dramatic speeches this time, no audience. Just two people who had finally remembered how to be near each other again.
When we reached the doorway, I saw Suhail already seated, reading something half-heartedly, and Sara threw me a look that said finally, and I made a mental note to glare at her later.
I sat down beside Suhail.
Ahad slid into the bench in front of me with an exhale, immediately met with Zafar's smirk and a nudge that said "So... truce?"
"Free period," Miss Brigainza had announced with a roll of her eyes and a wave of her shawl before stepping out.
Free.
Yeah, right.
Free to dive into the ten thousand layers of unsaid things that still existed between half the class.
Suhail leaned toward me.
"So, that was... new."
His tone was curious but not invasive.
"That was overdue," I said lightly.
Behind us, Ahad twisted slightly in his seat to say something to Zafar but caught my eye in the process. He didn't hold the stare long — just a flicker, then he returned to his banter.
Sara noticed. She elbowed me softly.
"So, you and him?"
"Still me and him," I said. "Just… slightly less cold war."
Sara nodded like she was already drafting a psychological report on us.
Zaffar turned in his seat to ask Ahad about something in Urdu homework, but Ahad barely registered it.
That undercurrent was back.
Like static.
Like a storm gathering somewhere in the ribcage.
We'd made a truce.
But the battlefield was still warm.
And free class?
Well — in our world, that always meant more than one kind of test.
Absolutely — here's a rich, emotionally grounded Ahad POV chapter set during the free period following the fragile truce between him and Iman. It blends inner conflict, self-awareness, and the lingering storm from the Hafiz fight — not melodramatic, but deeply introspective, as Ahad tries to name what he's feeling... and fails.
Chapter: What Doesn't Have a Name?
Ahad's POV
It was supposed to be just a free class.
A forty-minute pause in the middle of a chaotic Wednesday.
People were laughing, passing folded notes, some sleeping with their faces hidden behind open textbooks like shields of convenience.
But me?
I was still stuck in my head.
"You've changed, man."
Zafar had said that too,last week but— not as a complaint, just... a fact.
And he wasn't wrong.
I have changed.
Drastically.
But no one really knows when it started.
Everyone thinks it was the fight — the whole Hafiz drama that blew through our class like a hurricane in February.
The shouting. The fists. The blood on my collar.
And sure, that was the explosion...
But the match had been lit long before that.
Somewhere in late December — maybe January — things started to feel... different.
I did.
My reflection in the mirror lingered longer than it used to.
My tongue held back words that once leapt out without thought.
The smile I used as a weapon in every room suddenly didn't work like it used to.
And around her?
I started second-guessing everything.
One minute we were best friends, and the next... it wasn't that simple.
No, don't say love.
I'm not some walking poetry book.
This isn't a novel.
It's just... something.
A shift. A dislocation of gravity.
Like Iman had become the axis and I couldn't tell if I was orbiting her or trying to break free from it.
That's the confusing part.
I don't know when friendship turned into... whatever this is.
Maybe the day I saw her laughing with Suhail?
Or maybe the night I dreamt of her voice before sleep took me.
"You good?"
Zaffar asked from beside me, knocking on my desk like it was a door to reality.
"Yeah," I said, barely moving.
Just lied.
I looked back over my shoulder.
There she was.
Just behind me, head tilted slightly as she listened to Suhail say something with far too much animation.
She smiled politely. Politely. Like it wasn't the smile I used to earn by teasing her about her handwriting or stealing her fries at break.
It should have been fine.
I mean, it was fine.
We were talking again. Sort of.
Smiles were back. Truce drawn.
But something in me still felt like a book with ripped-out pages.
And maybe I was scared.
Not of losing her.
But of not knowing what exactly I wanted from her .
I don't want to confess some earth-shattering feeling.
I don't want drama.
I don't even want to name this.
Because names carry expectations.
Right now... I just want to understand what I'm becoming.
And why the person who always used to be my peace, now suddenly feels like the one stirring everything up inside.
Zafar leaned in.
"Ahad. You've been staring at the same corner of the wall for ten minutes. Are you decoding Morse code with your eyelashes?"
I smirked.
That broke the fog.
"Just thinking about physics," I lied again.
It was safer than saying I'm trying to figure out the geometry of my own heart.
He didn't believe me. But Zafar knew when not to poke further.
And as the free period drifted on, and the buzz of classroom noise rose and fell like waves…
I stayed still.
Trying to name the storm inside me —
and failing.