Amina woke earlier than usual, long before the sun had decided what kind of day it wanted to be. The sky outside the window was only beginning to lighten, painted in sluggish streaks of grey-blue. The air in the apartment felt cool and still. Too still.
She lay there for a moment, listening.
No voices.
No footsteps.
No chaos.
Just silence.
But today, silence didn't comfort her. It pressed too close, crowding in on her thoughts. She turned on her side, curling her knees slightly, burying half her face into the pillow. The softness of it made something deep inside her ache—with gratitude, with fear, she didn't know.
Yesterday's study session had gone well. Better than she expected. She was finally catching up. The apartment had given her room to think again. But that didn't mean her mind had settled. It simply meant she had enough breathing space to notice everything she'd been avoiding.
She couldn't stop thinking about Maryam's message. Those words sat on her chest like a rock.
If you leave this house, don't expect anything from us again.
Her fingers curled around the sheets.
What if Maryam meant it? What if she truly had no home to return to after exams? What if she'd made a mistake—
A soft vibration pulled her from her spiraling thoughts.
Her phone.
A message.
From Rafi.
Are you awake?
Her heart fluttered unexpectedly, caught between comfort and nervousness. She typed back:
Yes. I've been up for a bit.
Almost instantly, he replied:
I figured. You left the light on in the hallway. I saw it when I came up to check on you.
She stared at the message, warmth spreading across her shoulders.
He had checked on her.
Without waking her.
Without making noise.
Without demanding anything.
He just wanted to be sure she was okay.
A second message came in:
I'm bringing breakfast. Don't argue.
Amina let out a soft breath that wasn't quite a laugh but wasn't despair either.
She got up, washed her face, pulled her scarf into place, and straightened her clothes. She wasn't trying to impress him—she just didn't want to look as troubled as she felt.
A knock sounded.
"Come in," she said quietly.
Rafi opened the door with his elbow, balancing two food packs and a bag in his hands.
"You got up fast," he said lightly.
"I was already awake."
"I know." He set the food down on the table. "You don't sleep deeply unless you feel safe."
Her heart skipped. He said it casually, not even trying to sound poetic or dramatic. Just honest. Observant. That was almost worse. She didn't know how to brace herself for someone who actually noticed things.
He opened the lids. Food steam rose into the air—warm, familiar scents she rarely got to enjoy slowly.
"Eat first," he instructed. "We'll talk after."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Talk about what?"
He studied her face for a moment. "You didn't sleep well. I can see it."
Amina dropped her gaze. "It's nothing."
"It isn't." He pulled a chair for her. "Sit."
Something about the quiet firmness in his tone made her obey without argument. She sat, and he sat across from her, not eating until she took her first bite.
She swallowed slowly. "It's just… Maryam's message."
Rafi leaned back slightly. He didn't sigh or curse under his breath. He didn't show anger. Instead, he looked at her with a kind of steady patience.
"She didn't surprise me," he said. "She only confirmed what I already knew about her."
Amina stared at him. "Which is?"
"That she acts from insecurity, not strength."
The thought stunned her. "Insecurity? Maryam?"
Rafi nodded once. "People who are truly in control don't need to threaten. Only the afraid do."
Amina looked down. The words hit deeper than she expected. Not because they were comforting—but because they were true.
"Still," she whispered, "it feels like I've lost my place in that house."
"Maybe," he said softly. "Or maybe you've simply outgrown the place they wanted to cage you in."
She looked up sharply, meeting his eyes.
He held her gaze without blinking. "You're not meant to live small, Amina."
Her throat tightened. He didn't understand—living small was safer. Living small meant fewer problems, fewer conflicts, fewer expectations. She opened her mouth to say so, but he spoke first.
"And you're afraid of that," he said gently. "You're afraid of everything getting better, because what if it doesn't last?"
Her breath caught.
She didn't reply, but she didn't have to. Rafi saw the answer in her silence.
He leaned forward slightly. "You're allowed to want more. To want peace. To want a life that doesn't hurt."
Amina blinked fast.
He continued, softer now, "And you're allowed to accept help without feeling guilty."
The room felt warmer, smaller, like the walls were leaning in closer to listen.
Amina wiped a thumb across the corner of her eye, catching tears before they fell. "Why are you like this?" she whispered.
"Like what?"
"Patient with me. Understanding. Gentle." Her voice cracked. "I'm not used to this."
He didn't smile. He didn't tease. He didn't step back to give her distance.
He spoke quietly, almost carefully, "Because you deserve gentleness. Even if you don't believe it yet."
Her breath trembled, and she had to set down her fork before her hands shook.
Rafi watched her for a moment, then stood. "Come with me."
Amina frowned. "Where?"
"Just come."
She hesitated but followed him out onto the small balcony attached to the apartment. The city stretched out below them—cars, rooftops, early morning haze. The wind brushed her scarf lightly.
Rafi leaned on the railing, arms folded. "This is the view from here," he said. "The world isn't as dark when you're standing somewhere safe."
Amina stood beside him silently.
"You know what I think?" he said.
"What?"
"That you're still looking back, even though there's nothing behind you worth returning to."
Amina stiffened. He wasn't wrong. She hated how right he was.
"It's natural to hold on to familiar pain," Rafi added. "It's what you survived with. But it isn't what you'll grow with."
She swallowed hard. "It's not easy to let go."
"No," he agreed. "But you don't have to do it alone."
She looked at him again. His expression was calm—not demanding, not intense, just… steady. Safe. Present.
"Rafi," she whispered, "what do you want from me?"
He turned his head, meeting her eyes fully.
"Nothing you don't want to give," he said. "But I want you to have a life that doesn't break you. And if I can help give you that, I will."
Her heart thudded hard, painfully, as if it wasn't used to beating that way.
A sudden wind swept across the balcony. Amina grabbed her scarf before it slipped off. Rafi reached out on instinct, steadying it with one hand. His fingers brushed hers—warm, firm, gentle.
They froze.
Amina's breath caught.
Rafi slowly pulled his hand back, as if he didn't trust himself to keep it there.
"Let's go inside," he said quietly.
They went back in.
⸻
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of soft moments.
Amina studied.
Rafi worked at the lounge downstairs but checked on her every few hours.
She sent her father a simple message:
I'm studying. Hope you're okay.
He replied, slowly as usual:
Take care of yourself. I'm glad you're safe.
That alone eased something in her chest.
Around 4 p.m., she walked to the lounge and found Rafi on the couch with his jacket off, sleeves rolled up, reading something on his tablet. He looked calmer than usual—almost peaceful.
He looked up, noticing her immediately. "Break time?"
"Yes."
He set the tablet aside. "Come sit."
She sat. A bit far at first. He noticed.
"You're still nervous," he said quietly.
"About everything."
"I know."
"But I don't want to go back," she admitted for the first time.
Rafi didn't smile, but something warm softened his eyes.
"You won't."
His voice was deep, steady, unshakeable.
"You're not going back to any version of your life that hurts," he said. "Not while I'm here."
Amina's breath hitched.
He didn't touch her.
He didn't make a move.
He simply sat beside her, close enough for her to feel his warmth, far enough not to overwhelm her.
The quiet stretched between them—comfortable now, not frightening.
And for the first time, Amina realized the truth:
Her old life wasn't the thing she feared losing.
Her new life—the peace, the freedom, him—was what terrified her… because she didn't know how to keep something that good.
But as the hours passed and Rafi's presence stayed steady beside her, another thought pushed through the fear:
Maybe she didn't have to know how.
Maybe she only had to try.