She hadn't eaten in two days.
Her mouth was dry. Her limbs shaky. Her spirit — frayed into near nothingness.
She sat at the edge of the sink, staring at a handful of pills.
Cheap, stolen, and dangerous.
The kind of thing desperate girls took when they didn't want the world to know they were ever touched.
It had all become too much.
The whispers behind her back.
The mosque that now felt like a cage.
The stares from her mother — cold and wordless.
The messages from both brothers, piling up on her phone like bricks on her chest.
She didn't know how to choose between them.
Didn't know how to raise a child when she could barely stand to look in the mirror.
She wanted it to stop.
Just for a moment.
To not be Aaliyah the disappointment.
Aaliyah the haram girl.
Aaliyah the ruined bride.
Her hand hovered over the pills.
She closed her eyes.
And whispered, "I'm sorry."
---
The knock came like thunder.
Not once. But violently.
Then came the voice.
"Aaliyah! Open the door! Please!"
Silas.
She froze.
"Aaliyah, I know. Please—don't do anything. I'm begging you."
She moved toward the door, stunned, dazed — but before she could twist the handle, it burst open.
Lucien.
His face was pale, panicked. "Where are they? Where are the pills?!"
She tried to speak, but Silas was already beside her, holding her shoulders, his hands trembling. "What were you thinking?!"
Tears spilled from her eyes. "I didn't want to feel anymore—"
"You don't get to stop feeling," Lucien snapped. "Not when you've lit this fire in all three of us."
Silas glared at him. "Shut up."
But Lucien didn't back down. He grabbed the pills and threw them across the room.
"You think this child is a mistake? It's ours. Yours. Mine. Hers."
Aaliyah sank to the floor, sobbing.
Silas knelt beside her, voice softer now. "You don't have to do this alone, Aaliyah. We'll figure it out. I swear."
Lucien crouched beside her, quieter now too. "If I ever mattered to you—even for a second—don't take this from us."
Her lips trembled. "I'm so scared."
"We are too," Silas said, his eyes glossy. "But we'll be scared with you. We'll protect you. The baby. Everything."
For the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to cry openly.
Not from guilt. Not from shame.
But from the impossible realization—
She wasn't alone anymore.
---