Truth surfacing
Aubrey's pov
Present
"Wait… stop," Kais says slowly. "You're saying you made a deal with my sister?"
His voice falters.
"My baby sister?"
I nod.
"And she agreed?"
His voice is quieter now, like he already knows the answer and just needs it confirmed.
I nod again.
Kais exhales, the sound caught somewhere between disbelief and something dangerously close to grief. He looks away, jaw tightening, then lets out a short, humourless laugh.
"She really was in love with you," he says. "Only someone in love would agree to a condition that stupid."
I roll my eyes.
"And she didn't question who you were," he continues, turning back to me, his gaze sharp but distant, "when she saw you performing?"
"That confused me too," I say. "At the time, anyway." I hesitate. "My face is everywhere in this city. Posters. Screens. Headlines. I thought she'd piece it together eventually."
A pause settles between us.
"I expected her to be the one to ask me."
I glance toward Michael. He's been staring at his laptop for far too long, shoulders still, eyes unmoving, like the screen is anchoring him in place.
"Hey, Michael," I say. "You've been staring at that thing forever."
He looks up slowly. First at me. Then at Kais. The shift in his expression is subtle, but unmistakable, like a decision finally clicks into place.
Michael exhales, long and tired. He closes the laptop with deliberate care and sets it on the coffee table, as if granting himself one last moment of control.
"Guys," he says quietly, "I need to tell you something."
A pause.
"Something I've been hiding for a while."
The room tightens around us.
So I'm not wrong after all.
He has been hiding something.
And my instinct catches it long before he's ready to admit it.
"I had this offer," Michael says, his voice slower than usual, like he's testing the words before letting them land. "To teach business management at a university in Chicago."
I look at him then. The city lights outside the window catch his profile, sharp and distant, like he already has one foot somewhere else.
"But I don't know if I should take it," he continues. "I'm happy here. I like my job. Still, part of me keeps wondering what more there could be."
I smile, shaking my head softly. "Michael, first of all, that's incredible." I lean closer. "You should take it. You owe yourself that chance."
He doesn't answer right away. He just watches me, searching my face.
"And second," I add, a hint of a grin breaking through, "if Chicago doesn't feel like home, you can always come back. I'll still need a manager."
He laughs, quiet and surprised, and the tension in the room loosens, like the future cracks open just a little.
Kais smiles too, something warm softening his features. Pride settles in his eyes as he looks at Michael, and for once, his smile is unguarded, genuine, as if this moment needs no armour.
"Oh, and Kais." I turn toward him, already knowing what I'm about to say. "There's no need to extend your stay. I could talk about Ayah all day, and neither of us needs that."
A pause lingers, thick but familiar.
He nods once, brief and accepting, like he understands exactly what's being spared.
I don't want to take up Kais's time. I know that as much as he's here for the interview, he's also here to put distance between himself and someone back home. It doesn't take long to see it. The late-night calls. The sleeplessness, like he's waiting for something that refuses to arrive. The way his eyes keep searching, never quite settling, as if he's looking for both a person and an answer.
And the way he listens when I talk about Ayah. Not politely. Not out of obligation. He listens like someone who understands too well.
That's when it clicks.
Once, I was exactly where he is now. Head over heels for his sister, glowing with a love I don't yet know will cost me everything. And now here he is, carrying that same quiet intensity, that same restlessness, head over heels for a woman of his own.
I recognize it immediately. The weight in his silence. The ache behind his composure. Everything he's been radiating lately, I've lived before.
It's three in the morning, that thin, fragile hour when sleep loosens its grip and thoughts slip free. No matter how I turn or twist, rest won't come. The unease sits too close to my chest, humming without reason. Eventually, I give in, slip out of bed, and let the quiet guide me to the living room.
The lights are off. Shadows pool along the walls.
And then I see him.
A tall silhouette stands near the window, unmoving, almost unreal. My heart stumbles, fear flashing sharp and sudden, until he shifts and the shape becomes familiar. Kais. A phone pressed to his ear. The room seems to hold its breath with him.
"I don't know when I'll be back," he says quietly. His eyes are closed now, one hand braced against his forehead, as the weight of the night has settled there. "Is she okay?"
He listens. Too long.
"You know it's impossible between us," he continues, his voice low, strained. "It's better for both of us if we disappear from each other's lives."
He turns, and our eyes meet. Surprise flickers across his face, quick and unguarded, before something more careful slips back into place.
"I'll call you later," he says, ending the call.
The screen goes dark. The room stays heavy. The silence that follows feels louder than anything he's said.
"How much did you hear?" he asks, a faint frown pulling at his brow.
"Enough to know you're in love."
His denial comes too fast. "I'm not in love. I can't be in love with her."
"Why?" I ask, tilting my head, watching him instead of pressing.
His breath turns uneven, his body restless, like every part of him is fighting the truth. "Because we're not meant to be."
"But you love her," I say gently. "And I'm guessing she loves you, too."
He turns toward the window, the city stretching out beneath him, all light and distance.
"Yeah," he finally admits. "But she was never meant to be mine." His voice drops. "She's promised to someone else. She's going to be engaged."
"But you can stop it," I say, my voice firm despite the ache rising in my chest. "If the feelings are mutual, it's only right to fight for them."
He looks away, jaw tightening. "You wouldn't understand."
I scoff, the sound brittle, almost a laugh that never forms. "I wouldn't understand? Me?" I step closer before I realize I'm moving. "No. If there's anyone who understands, it's me."
His gaze flickers back to mine.
"Your sister and I fought for each other," I say, something tearing open inside me. "Not quietly. Not easily. We fought when the odds were cruel, when society stood in the way, when the world kept telling us no." My voice wavers, but I keep going. "We fought because we knew that if we didn't, we wouldn't just lose each other. We'd lose ourselves."
The room feels smaller. Heavier.
"I lost things because of that fight," I continue, my throat tightening. "Eventually, I lost her." I swallow. "So don't tell me I wouldn't understand. I live with the cost of loving someone every single day."
Silence follows, thick and unbearable.
"I'm sorry," Kais says quietly. "I didn't mean it like that."
"It's okay," I reply, softer now, but steady. Then I really look at him. "But Kais, don't fool yourself into thinking letting go of the person you love is noble. Don't dress fear up as sacrifice and call it love."
He stays silent.
"If you love her, you fight for her," I say. "You fight with her. You don't leave her standing alone after giving her all that affection, all that hope, and then walk away claiming it's for her own good."
My chest tightens, but I don't stop.
"You can say she wouldn't understand. You can say it's better this way. But she will understand one thing very clearly." My voice drops. "When she needed you the most, you chose to leave. And no explanation in the world can soften that."
The words settle between us, heavy and irreversible, like something once spoken can never be taken back.