Ayra didn't like chasing people.
She wasn't the type to beg, to ask twice, to reach where hands refused to meet her halfway.
But Zayn…
He wasn't just anybody.
She waited by his locker during break, fingers curled around her notebook like it was some kind of anchor. He came as expected — slow, hoodie pulled over his head, avoiding her gaze like it was poison.
"Zayn…" she said quietly.
He didn't stop. Didn't even flinch.
"Zayn, please."
That word made him pause. Only slightly. Barely.
He turned halfway, eyes half-lidded, voice colder than she remembered.
"What?"
Her heart dropped.
"Did I… do something wrong?"
He looked at her then. Really looked. And it wasn't anger. It was emptiness — like she'd been replaced by a wall he didn't want to climb anymore.
"You didn't do anything," he said flatly. "I'm just done doing everything."
And just like that, he walked away.
Ayra stood there for a moment, blinking back something sharp behind her eyes. The hallway blurred with noise and bodies, but none of it felt real. She turned, chest aching with something she couldn't name.
Then—
Cairo showed up.
Leaning against the railing like he'd been watching all along. He didn't smile this time. Didn't tease. Just opened his arms without asking.
And for the first time,
Ayra walked into them.
He held her like he'd been waiting. Whispered, "He's blind, Ayra," like that explained everything.
But Ayra didn't reply.
Because maybe she wasn't looking for explanation.
Maybe she just needed warmth — even if it wasn't from the sun she once wanted.