The door clicked shut behind Zayn.
Silence filled the room again — but this one was heavier. Not peaceful.
Just full.
Ayra's eyes drifted to the phone screen, Cairo's message still glowing.
[Cairo: Can we talk? I'm outside.]
She stared at it for a long moment. Then… she picked up the phone, slipped on her slippers, and stepped out.
The night air wrapped around her like a question she wasn't ready to answer. Soft, cool, and filled with tension.
Cairo was leaning against the streetlight just outside his gate — arms crossed, hoodie draped over his head, like always.
When he saw her, his shoulders lowered. Just slightly.
"You came."
"You asked," she said softly.
They stood for a beat, like two strangers playing familiar.
"Did he come to see you?" Cairo asked, eyes not meeting hers.
"Zayn? Yeah."
A pause.
"Did he say why we fought?"
Ayra shook her head. "No. And you won't either, will you?"
Cairo looked at her then, truly looked.
"You're not ready to hear it."
She frowned. "Then why ask me out here?
He stepped forward, the streetlight drawing soft gold over his sharp features.
"Because I needed to know if you'd still choose to come. Even when he told you not to."
Her heart skipped.
"That wasn't fair."
"Nothing about this is fair, Ayra."
Silence again.
He looked away first.
"I didn't mean to scare you that night. And I didn't want you hurt."
"But I got hurt."
"I know.
He sighed. Then his voice softened.
"I'm trying to stay away from you. Zayn warned me to. And I promised I would."
"So why am I here?"
"Because I broke the promise."
Ayra's lips parted, but no words came out
Just her pulse. Loud.
"Do you regret coming outside?" he asked.
"I don't know," she whispered.
Cairo nodded slowly, like that was the answer he expected.
"Goodnight, Ayra."
He turned and walked back to his house, hands in his pockets.
She stood there a moment longer — lost in the storm they'd both dragged her into.