It rained that night.
Not the kind that soaked the earth, but the kind that made you quiet. Made the world feel like a sigh pressed into your window.
Ayra was in her room, knees hugged to her chest, forehead pressed against the glass. The ache from Zayn's words hadn't left, but it no longer stung — it simply sat there. Like something she'd carry now.
A knock.
Not at her door — her window.
She turned, blinking. Cairo.
He stood under the dim glow of the streetlight, drenched from the soft drizzle, hoodie pulled over half his face. He motioned with two fingers. She hesitated… then opened the window.
"You're going to catch a cold," she said softly as he climbed through.
"Could've stayed in my warm bed, Ayra. But I figured you needed someone more than I needed comfort."
She didn't smile. But she didn't stop him either.
They sat on her bed, the soft hum of rain between them.
"You don't always have to be okay," he murmured. "You can fall apart too, you know. I'd still pick up the pieces."
Ayra's throat tightened. She leaned her head against his shoulder, quietly.
And outside — unseen — Zayn stood in his own window, watching it all.
The way Cairo touched her hand.
The way she didn't pull back.
The way she looked safe in someone else's presence.
He clenched his jaw.
It shouldn't have mattered.
He told himself it didn't.
But the ache in his chest said otherwise