Zayn never meant to look.
He wasn't the type to chase shadows or check windows. But the street was quiet that evening, and from his balcony — third floor, corner view — Ayra's window was perfectly visible.
She always left her curtains half-drawn.
And tonight… he saw him.
Cairo.
Climbing the fence like it was his second home. Slipping through the yard like he belonged there. Tapping softly on her window like it was some secret language only they understood.
Zayn froze.
At first, he blinked — thinking maybe it wasn't what it looked like.
But then Ayra opened the window.
And let him in.
Zayn stepped back from the balcony. The curtain brushed his arm like a whisper, like something telling him to unsee what he saw. But he couldn't.
He stood there, still, the room behind him completely dark — the only light coming from the moon and the memory of her smile.
Something about it stung. Not because Cairo was there. But because she let him.
His mind played tricks: Was she smiling? Were they close? Did she say his name the way she used to say his?
Zayn turned away.
He didn't know how long he stood there after that, but when he finally went inside, he didn't touch his phone. Didn't touch his books. Just sat on the floor of his room, head back, eyes closed.
He wasn't angry.
No, anger was loud. And Zayn?
He'd mastered silence like an art.
But tonight —
Tonight, he realized the quiet could hurt too