Rain soaked the city like it, too, needed to weep.
Aaliyah stood under the arched walkway, arms tightly folded across her chest, hijab clinging to her skin like a second, suffocating layer. She had come to campus early, seeking silence. Seeking sanctuary. But peace was an illusion, and today, she wasn't alone.
Silas Vale leaned against the far column, cigarette half-dead between his fingers, gaze fixed not on her, but through her. He wasn't supposed to be here. Not in the Islamic architecture department. Not in her spaces. And yet, he always was.
She hated how aware she was of him.
The quiet masculinity of his jawline.
The way his shirts always looked a little too tight, like his darkness couldn't be contained.
The fact that even his silence was a form of violation.
"I don't bite, Aaliyah," he murmured, not looking up. "Unless asked nicely."
Her heart thudded.
She turned sharply. "Do you enjoy making people uncomfortable?"
"I don't enjoy much of anything," he replied. "Except watching someone try to pretend they're not curious."
There it was again—the pull. Not lust. Not even desire. Something deeper. A recognition. Like she was staring at a mirror that showed not her reflection, but her suppressed sins.
Aaliyah took a step forward before she realized it, her voice cracking as she whispered, "You don't know me."
Silas's eyes lifted—stormy gray, darkened by whatever hell brewed inside him. "You pray five times a day, but you flinch when I look at you. Tell me that's not interesting."
Her fists clenched. "You think you're some kind of test? Some twisted temptation? You're nothing."
He walked toward her. Slowly. Measured. Dangerous.
"No, Aaliyah," he said, now barely inches from her. "I'm the part of you you're too scared to meet. The part that wonders what it would feel like to stop being perfect for everyone else."
She inhaled sharply. That close, she could smell the cigarettes and cinnamon gum. Her father would spit if he saw this. Her mother would cry. Her imam would say it's a sin just to stand this near a man like him.
But still—she didn't move.
Silas's voice dropped lower. "Tell me to leave, and I will."
She opened her mouth.
No sound came out.
"Thought so," he said. Then he turned and walked into the rain like the devil retreating into the mist.
Aaliyah stood frozen, lips trembling, breath caught somewhere between shame and surrender.
She walked away not to escape him—
But to escape herself.
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