Chapter — School off
Iman's POV
We weren't even supposed to be out there. But Shanzeh had forgotten her journal in the art room, and Sarah dragged me along "for backup," as usual.
And just as we turned past the main corridor—
I saw them.
Ahad.
Hafiz.
Ten feet apart.
The silence between them was sharper than any insult. You could feel it before you heard it. Their postures. Their eyes. The distance.
Something was happening. Something old. Something unfinished.
I felt Sarah pause beside me.
Shanzeh muttered, "Oh damn."
Ahad's jaw locked the second he saw me. But instead of pulling me back, he straightened and walked toward us. His voice was tight, like someone reeling in a fuse just before it snapped.
"You ready to go?"
I glanced down at my empty hands. We hadn't brought our cycles today. We were walking back.
I nodded slowly, adjusting my dupatta.
But just as we turned—
"Iman."
His voice again.
Hafiz.
I froze mid-step.
"I need to talk to you."
Not asked.
Demanded.
And for the first time in weeks, the air around me shifted—like it wasn't mine anymore.
I felt Ahad move beside me, muscles rigid. He was close now, too close to detonate. The storm that brewed in his eyes… it made something flutter in my chest.
But this wasn't the time for that.
I turned to him. Met his eyes.
Spoke low. Calm.
"He won't do anything."
I looked at Hafiz, then back at Ahad.
"You're here. He won't dare."
Ahad didn't respond for a second. Then gave a single, reluctant nod.
I stepped forward.
The others hung back. I felt their eyes on us—but it didn't matter.
Only this did.
---
He didn't even pretend to soften.
"Why are you ignoring me?" Hafiz asked directly.
I folded my arms, not answering. "Was I that unbearable?"
He raised a brow. "You want honesty?"
"You were demanding. Obsessive. You thought attention meant control."I said,instead.
He looked away for a second.
Then back.
A smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"And him?" He didn't need to say Ahad's name."He isn't?"
I felt my breath catch—but not in defense.
In realization.
This wasn't about them. It never was.
It was about me—the girl caught between two versions of comfort. One that looked like a habit. Another that felt like fire.
I spoke carefully, deliberately.
"Ahad never tried to own me."
I met his gaze.
"He never asked to be seen. He just… showed up." Hafiz looked down. Then nodded once, tightly.
"I didn't want to be like them."
His voice cracked slightly.
"But I guess I was worse."
I didn't reply.
And in that silence… we both understood it was over.
He wasn't going to fight this time.
He just needed to hear it.
"Goodbye, Hafiz."
I turned.
Ahad was still there. Arms folded. Eyes watching every step.
And when I reached him—
I didn't say a word.
Neither did HE.
But the air felt clearer now.
Lighter.
Like something heavy had finally been spoken into silence.
Ahad's POV
[Returning from school – After the confrontation]
We were walking back, her dupatta fluttering lightly in the evening breeze, our footsteps the only rhythm breaking the silence.
She didn't say anything.
I didn't either.
But the echo of her voice — "He's here. He won't dare." — still rang in my head. Not because she trusted me. But because it reminded me of who I'd become.
The type of person she thought would keep someone like Hafiz away.
We crossed the curve past the bookstore. Our old checkpoint.
A week ago, we were just best friends. Joking. Laughing. Competing for who could finish math homework faster.
Now?
Now I was counting how many steps I had left with her before the road forked — her colony to the east. Mine straight ahead.
"You okay?"
The words finally slipped out. Soft. Careful.
She gave a tiny nod, eyes on the dusty path ahead. "Yeah."
I wanted to ask more. So much more.
But I couldn't. Not when I barely understood what I'd ask.
I wanted to tell her about the ache in my chest when I saw Hafiz looking at her.
I wanted to say I was trying. Trying to be the boy she remembered — loud, boyish, reckless with his energy but never with his heart.
But all I did was walk beside her.
We passed the old paan shop where she'd once slipped and laughed so hard she almost fell into me.
She didn't look at it.
I glanced sideways — her eyes were steady now. Calm.
Like the storm had passed, and she was fine.
Then she paused. We'd reached the junction.
She pointed toward the east road. "That way."
Her voice was light. But not playful.
I nodded.
"Okay."
And then after a beat—
"Want me to walk you to the gate?"
She tilted her head, her usual half-smirk not quite reaching her lips. "I've walked that path alone since forever."
I shrugged. "Doesn't mean you have to now."
A moment passed.
Then she looked up — directly at me.
"You changed, you know."
Not accusation. Not admiration. Just a fact.
I swallowed.
"Yeah."
She adjusted her bag. "But… I don't hate it."
And then — just like that — she turned and started walking toward Vasco Street, her footsteps lighter than before.
I stood there, still, until she disappeared around the corner.
And that was the thing.
I didn't know what this feeling was — not love, not yet.
But it had me waiting at a forked road, staring after a girl who always took the east road home.
-