The morning light streamed through the thin curtains, casting soft patterns on the floor.I woke up feeling the quiet weight of Zahid's presence sleeping on the floor beside me.
It was strange. Comforting. Unsettling.
How could someone so cold, so mysterious, make me feel safe?
I tiptoed to the kitchen to make tea.
My hands still shook sometimes—memories of that terrible night when I saw blood everywhere haunted me.The sound of screams, the smell of iron, the darkness swallowing the light.
But Zahid—he didn't judge me for being scared. He didn't laugh at my fears.
He understood.
Later, when Zahid woke, we shared silence over cups of tea.
I watched him—his black clothes hanging loosely, his eyes scanning the room as if expecting danger.
I wanted to ask him everything.Who was he really?What made him so cold?
But I held back.
Because some truths weren't ready to be spoken.
Days turned into weeks.
Zahid came to class.
He was my professor.
My protector.
My enigma.
One afternoon, he invited me to his office.
"Sit," he said, voice softer than usual.
"I want to talk."
I swallowed my fear.
"About what?"
"About you. About me. About the things we hide."
He pulled out an old photo album from the drawer.
"Look," he said, opening it to a picture of a small boy with a hopeful smile.
"This was me… before everything changed."
I touched the photo gently.
"Tell me about him."
Zahid's voice cracked.
"That boy was innocent. Until I lost him."
His hands trembled slightly.
"People I trusted betrayed me. They took everything away—family, home, hope."
Tears welled up in my eyes.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"No," Zahid said firmly. "You don't have to be sorry.I want you to know who I was… so you can understand who I am."
His gaze softened.
"And maybe… help me become someone new."
I reached out.
"My scars don't define me," I said. "And neither do yours."
We sat together.
Two broken souls beginning to heal.