"Children know what adults forget: they do."
It began with a twitch. A breath. The smallest sound.
Zeyla hadn't meant to sleep—not while the children were still unmoving, locked in that strange, fevered sleep—but exhaustion had folded her in, slowly, without permission. Her hand had fallen around the smallest girl's wrist, limp but warm.
Then, in the dark hour before dawn, the child moved.
Zeyla jerked upright, sleep hanging like a fog behind her eyes.
The little girl blinked up at her. Her lips cracked. Then she whispered:
"…Mama?"
Zeyla froze. Her throat burned with a hundred prayers.
"Mama… Noor's coming," the girl mumbled with a dreamy certainty. "She said… we shouldn't cry."
Zeyla couldn't speak. The words refused to come.
She hadn't heard from Noor in thirteen days. Not even a flicker on the networks Noor herself once built to reach even the forgotten corners of this dying world.
"She told me," said the boy in the next bed, suddenly awake. His voice cracked with sleep. "She touched my head. Said she'll be here soon."
The twins stirred next. Then the mute boy coughed. Then he laughed.
By the time the fifth child sat up and asked if the kitchen still had soup, Zeyla wasn't breathing.
"Is she coming back now?" one asked.
"She'll come before the moon sleeps," said another.
"She said the sky will blink when she comes," whispered the smallest, smiling like she remembered the stars.
Zeyla stood in the center of it all, spine stiff, hands numb.
She stared at them—those wide, glowing eyes.
The children moved around her, radiant and ordinary, filling the orphanage with life again.
Her knees buckled a little.
She walked out of the room in silence.
The hallway was empty, still washed in pre-dawn blue. She pressed her back to the wall, swallowed hard, tried not to scream or sob or crumble.
Zeyla stood by the marbled wall, her fingers grazing the chill of it, eyes fixed on the grand double doors.
They hadn't moved a inch.
And yet her heart raced.
Because she remembered—
"How shall I reach you," she whispered, her voice cracking on the stone,
"if you come back like that…"
And the memory slammed into her.
Blood-soaked feet dragging across the foyer.
The crunch of broken glass beneath bare soles.
Noor's silhouette in the archway —
drenched in red, hair clinging like a veil of ink,
eyes darker than darkness itself.
She hadn't spoken.
Just looked up with those eyes that knew.
Painted in ruin.
Zeyla blinked, hard.
Twice.
Shook her head violently.
Not this time, she told herself.
Not like that…
And then—
THUD.
The doors groaned.
Heaved.
Opened on their own.
Light spilled in like a flood of silver fire.
And she saw her.
And then…
The wind shifted.
The bells in the northern tower rang once. Just once.
Zeyla's hands dropped to her sides. Her eyes widened.
Far beyond the orphanage walls, the birds were fleeing the southern sky.
And she stood there.
Noor.
Bathed in the first light of dawn.She looked like a blessing whispered in a dying man's dream.
Barefoot.
Draped in white silk that whispered against her skin.
Hair like flowing night.
Eyes darker still, obsidian and endless.
Porcelain skin aglow.
Lips and cheeks kissed by color of blooming roses.
Zeyla froze.
Her breath caught behind her ribs.
Tears rose—with the ache of something once lost.
Her thoughts stilled so did her breath.
But the spell cracked.
A laugh.
A child's feet pounding the stone.
Another voice. Then many.
"Mama..Noor!"
They rushed her—small hands, warm cries, arms wrapped around light.
Noor bent to meet them, smiling, silent.
And her smile broke something in Zeyla—something tender.
She whispered as she bowed, voice trembling as if from another life—
"Welcome home, my lady."
---
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Unhurried. Bare. Sleep-heavy.
Maya appeared at the threshold—hair tousled, shirt wrinkled, eyes still half-dreaming.
Then she saw her.
Her breath vanished.
"…Madam Noor."
The words left her like a gasp—part reverence, part disbelief.
She stepped forward, fast, almost running—
then stopped beside Zeyla.
Children clung to Noor's form.
Noor bent among them, arms open, eyes calm, timeless.
Maya watched—her throat tight, lips trembling, eyes burning.
And softly, she murmured:
"The soul of the estate has returned."
---
He stirred.
Golden hair tousled like he had wrestled with dreams. Emerald eyes opened — not green anymore, no, they shimmered silver. He only turned his face toward the door, and smirked.
At the foot of the grand staircase, Noor looked up.
Her bare feet on marble, her white silk trailing behind her like smoke after ruin. Their eyes met. And in that stillness, something old returned.
Sanlang descended.
Each step was too measured to be casual — yet too fluid to be rehearsed.
Noor did not move.
But her breath hitched.
He reached her. And for the first time, he looked down — to hold the sight of her from crumbling into dust.
He dropped to one knee.
Took her hand.
Stared at the ring on her finger as if it were the last star in his collapsing sky. The children gasped behind her — tiny hands clutching cloth, wide eyes peeking from behind Zeyla's arms.
He looked up into her eyes, and smiled. Softly.
Sanlang (barely audible):
"You always find your way back."
Noor didn't move.
Noor (voice hollow):
"That's the curse, isn't it? I return."
His throat tightened. The ache — familiar, nameless — rose in him again.
Sanlang:
"Is it?"
Noor (smiling bitterly):
"Every time. Right before the end."
The silence that followed felt like glass — still, fragile, waiting to crack.
Zeyla, never one to handle emotion gently, cleared her throat.
Zeyla (to Maya, dry):
"How much you wanna bet he still doesn't get it?"
Maya (raising an eyebrow):
"Please. If you slapped him across the face, he'd still flirt with amnesia."
Sanlang blinked, confused. Noor let out a breath — part laugh, part ache.
Zeyla (grinning, to Sanlang):
"Say something that doesn't make us want to throw you off the stairs."
Maya:
"Honestly, I expected tears. Or groveling. Maybe even a poetic monologue."
Sanlang (softly, still unsure):
"You look like a dream"
Noor looked away as she spoke.
"Dreams are kind. They let you wake up."
---
The silence between them was sacred — like the hush before a fall.
And in that stillness, he stepped forward.
Slow.
Reluctant.
She didn't move.
Until he touched her —
his fingers brushing her jaw with a gentleness that almost hurt.
As if even the act of holding her might shatter her into stars.
Then his hand slipped behind her neck — possessive, trembling.
And he kissed her.
Desperately.
He kissed her like a drowning man dragging air from her lungs.
His lips moved with broken rhythm — parting, crashing, begging.
As if trying to drink down her soul through her mouth.
Noor froze.
Across the room—
Zeyla's jaw dropped.
Maya blinked twice, then whispered under her breath, "Well... that's one way to say hello."
Zeyla quickly reached out and covered the nearest child's eyes.
"Alright, little ones, turn around. This is not for the show," she muttered.
Maya turned her back with a half-smile, "We're definitely not paid enough for this."
But behind them—
Sanlang held Noor like she might vanish mid-kiss.
A gasp caught between her lips and his.
Eyes wide — not from surprise, but from pain.
But she didn't pull away.
And then —
just as suddenly —
she pulled back.
He stood there, panting, his lips red from the pressure of what he hadn't said.
His eyes opened.
Silver.
Like moonlight caught in a storm.
Tears not yet fallen.
And in a voice that sounded like unraveling, he whispered,
"Even now… even when I ___, it feels like I'm losing you."
A single tear slipped down his cheek —
"This ," he said, voice cracking, "should have saved me."
"But all it did was remind me I don't belong in your world anymore."
Noor's fingers lifted on instinct, brushing the tear away — carefully.
She whispered,
"No amount of gold can pay for this…"
Her voice trembled.
"Nor do I deserve it."
She stepped back, slowly.
And Sanlang just stood there, eyes silver, mouth open —
as if still trying to hold her name between his lips.
The door to Noor's chamber creaked.
Then closed.
His fingers twitched at his side—like they still remembered the shape of her.
He stepped forward—
And met a hand on his chest.
Zeyla.
---
Zeyla (quietly):
"She went in alone, Sanlang.
Isn't that how it always ends with you?"
He exhaled.Didn't meet her eyes.
She took a step closer.
Zeyla (low, cutting):
"What will you do when she get to know __
The truth."
His jaw tensed.
But then—
his phone buzzed.
One glance.
Yilan's name.
A message previewed in his vision:
"She wasnt wrong.I found it exactly where she said it will be ."
Just that.
His lips parted—
a flicker of something ancient lighting behind his eyes.
He turned.
Zeyla (firm, nearly a whisper):
"You didn't deny it."
Sanlang paused mid-step.
His back to her.
He didn't speak.
And then—he walked away.
Answering the call before answering her.