There was shouting. Loud. Male. Ugly.
Ayra had been lying in bed when it started — the sound of fists meeting flesh and voices raised like thunder outside her window.
She rushed to the balcony.
Down the street, just outside the gated fence near the corner shop, two boys were tearing into each other under the streetlamp glow.
Zayn. Cairo.
Fists. Grunts. Blood.
Ayra's breath caught.
She didn't think. She just ran.
"Stop it!" she shouted, pushing through the small gate, barefoot in her pyjamas".
Neither of them heard her. Or maybe they didn't care.
Cairo's knuckles were already split. Zayn's lip was bleeding. The rage was bigger than both of them.
"Please!" she screamed again, stepping between them.
But it happened fast.
Zayn lunged, Cairo blocked — and his elbow flew back blindly.
Right into Ayra's cheek.
She staggered. Fell. Gasped.
Silence snapped like a rubber band.
Cairo froze.
Zayn's face twisted in fury. "Hey!!"
He dropped everything and rushed to her, lifting her off the ground like she weighed nothing.
Inside her room, everything was still.
Zayn laid her gently on the bed, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.
She winced, hand on her cheek. "You guys were fighting… why?"
He didn't answer.
Just stared at her like he had more to say than his mouth would allow.
"Zayn?"
He leaned in. Eyes glassy. Fingers trembling.
And softly—barely there—he pressed his lips to her forehead.
"Sleep," he whispered. "Please."
And then he was gone.