Ayra hadn't meant to walk the long route home.
She said it was for air. For space. For the sunset.
But the truth was simpler: she didn't want to go home yet.
Her cramps had faded. Her body was fine. But her mind… was loud.
And in all that noise, the silence around Zayn lately had become the loudest of all.
He was different.
Distant. Restless. Sometimes staring off into space like he was holding in screams he didn't have the voice for.
Then Cairo showed up.
And everything changed.
It was an accident, the eavesdropping.
Or maybe… fate.
She'd been walking slowly down the street near the school back gate when she saw them.
Zayn, leaning against a white SUV. Cairo standing in front of him, arms crossed. It wasn't a normal conversation. Their voices were low, sharp — like they didn't want anyone to hear.
But Ayra was there.
And curiosity was cruel.
She ducked behind a tall hedge and listened.
"You weren't supposed to come back," Zayn said flatly.
"And you weren't supposed to survive," Cairo replied, almost smiling.
Ayra's breath caught.
What?
Zayn scoffed.
"Still playing villain in a story no one's reading?"
Cairo stepped closer.
"The story's not over, brother. You think silence buries things. But I remember everything."
There was a pause. The air felt electric.
Then Cairo whispered:
"And I know who she is now… the girl. Four doors from you."
Ayra's heart dropped.
Wait—
He meant her?
She stepped back by instinct—crack.
The small snap of a twig echoed too loudly.
Both boys looked up.
Cairo's gaze scanned the bushes. Eyes sharp. Trained.
Predator-like.
Ayra held her breath.
Zayn didn't move.
Cairo smirked.
"You should tell her to walk lighter next time."
Then he turned and walked away like he hadn't just set the sky on fire.
When Ayra finally reached her street, she counted nervously.
Zayn lived at the fourth house.
She lived at the sixth.
And Cairo…
He lived at the eighth.
Too close.
Way, way too close.