The truck rumbled across the uneven dirt, jostling them with each rut and stone. Early sunlight smeared gold across the horizon, stretching long fingers through the windshield. Dust swirled behind them like a pale ghost refusing to let go.
Three hours.Three hours of holding her breath without realising it.
Ababeel finally let her shoulders sag, a slow surrender of the tension she had been knotting inside her chest. She glanced at Habeel—his hands steady on the wheel, jaw tight, dark circles still stubborn beneath his eyes.
"Stop the truck," she said quietly. He blinked. "What? Why?"
"We need to check your chest wound," she said, guilt creeping into her voice. "Which I… completely forgot."
He gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his heart."Oh my! And here I thought you finally wanted to admire me."
Her glare could have sliced glass."Get. Out."
The truck screeched to a dusty stop.
As soon as their boots hit the ground, a soft sound rustled behind them.
The little girl stirred.
Ababeel immediately knelt beside her, hands gentle, eyes scanning for bruise—— but the child moved faster than a striking snake.
A fistful of dirt exploded into Ababeel's face.
"Wha—HEY—!"She staggered, choking as grit scratched her throat.
Before she could blink the dust away, a small rock slammed into her forehead with a ruthless crack. She yelped.
The girl was already gone—darting through the trees with the wild precision of something born in fear, running from monsters only she could still see.
Habeel saw her streak past the truck window—a blur of frantic limbs and tangled hair. Instinct surged through him; he jumped out, his ribs screaming in protest.
"HEY! WAIT!! LISTEN—!"He forced his legs to move faster despite the pain clawing across his chest.
The girl zigzagged through the trees until she struck a wall of rock. She spun around, back pressed against stone, tiny hands raised like claws. Her eyes were huge, shining with the kind of terror that didn't belong in a child's world.
Habeel slowed, pulling all the sharpness out of his movements.Hands up…Voice soft…Steps steady…
A small, warm smile.
"Hey… easy," he murmured. "Look at me. Look. We're not here to hurt you."
He tapped his uniform lightly.
"These? We wear them so the bad people won't find us. Not because we're one of them."He tilted his head."Have you ever seen us carry guns?"
The girl hesitated, breathing like a cornered kitten.
She pointed—tiny finger shaking—toward Ababeel stumbling through the trees with dirt streaking her face.
Habeel sighed, expression falling like a curtain.
"I'll talk to her," he whispered. "But trust me… we're on your side. This flag?" He pinched the insignia. "Not ours. Just a disguise."
Slowly—deliberately—he crouched and held out one finger.
"You choose," he said softly. "Come with us… or try to survive alone."
One breath.Two.
Her tiny hand grabbed his finger.
Ababeel stumbled up behind him—face streaked, hair sticking out, a large red welt forming above her eyebrow. Habeel bit back a laugh so hard his ribs trembled.
Soon, the girl sat in the back, playing with old crates while Ababeel climbed into the passenger seat, yanking open the first-aid kit.
"Take off your shirt," she ordered.
Habeel raised an eyebrow."Oh? You know, dinner first would've—"
"Take. It. Off."
He lifted his hands in surrender and peeled the uniform shirt away. Purple and blue bruises bloomed across his ribs like spilt ink. Ababeel's breath hitched—not from embarrassment, but from the guilt of forgetting how badly he was hurt.
When her fingers brushed his skin—light, careful, warm—he forgot how to breathe.
Her touch was gentle… and embarrassingly soft.
Habeel stared at her profile, shocked. Is she…??No.No way. She can't be—…can she??
He felt his palms sweat like an idiot.
"The ribs aren't broken," she murmured. "But they're badly shaken. You'll feel pain when breathing. Rest. And… you might need to massage the area sometimes to regulate—"
He froze.
Massage…?Is she going to—?
A shirt smacked straight into his face.
"Put it back on, you naked monkey!"
He scrambled to obey, cheeks burning.
A gasp snapped them both alert.
"OH NO," Ababeel cried. "THE TINY PACKAGE OF FAT CUTENESS HAS RAIDED OUR SNACK CRATE!"
She bolted to the back. The girl held a chunk of bread like holy treasure.
Ababeel wailed, "Do you know how hard it is to find snacks?? HOW HARD??"
The girl giggled. Habeel leaned against the truck, grinning at the chaos.
"Why isn't she listening?!" Ababeel demanded.
"She is," Habeel said softly. "She just knows teasing you is more fun."
"She's SIX—what argument—"
"You'd be surprised."
The child giggled again. Ababeel pressed a hand over her face in defeat.
They placed the girl safely in the front. Ababeel climbed into the back to reorganise the crates.
Habeel followed her out—his expression suddenly shifting.
Darkening.Hardening.
"Ababeel," he said quietly. "Come here."
She turned, confused.
He glanced at the child in the front—safe. Distracted.
Then he stepped close. Too close.
He dipped his head to her ear.
"I'm sorry."
Her brows knitted."For what—?"
Before she could finish, he moved.
In a single, swift, controlled motion, he spun her around and pinned her gently but firmly to the truck's interior wall. His body caged her in without hurting her—blocking every escape route. His breath tickled the side of her neck.
Her heart lurched.
His voice came low. Soft. Wounded.
"Why are you hiding a gun… Ababeel?"
She froze.
Her breath caught in her throat, panic flaring wide in her eyes.
"W–what gun?" she whispered, voice too airy, too brittle.
He didn't buy a single syllable.
Slowly, he reached into the fold of her shirt—
—and pulled out the hidden weapon.
Dust floated around them like suspended stars.
"This one," he said quietly. "Care to explain?"
She struggled for words—any words.
Habeel loosened his hold but didn't step back. Not fully. He watched her like a man trying to understand a language he thought he already knew.
His voice trembled—not with ger. With something far worse.
"Do you not trust me… or are you planning something I should be afraid of?"
Her breath hitched."No—no, it's not that. I just… I just wanted to protect us."
"Protect?" he repeated, bitter. "Is that what you call it?"
She swallowed hard.
"I've… killed once," she whispered. "It's better if only one of us has their hands dirty."
The words sliced straight through him.
His face broke—pain flickering through the cracks.
"Dirty?" he echoed. "Dirty?"
He shook his head, stepping back half a pace, his eyes burning in disbelief.
"What I don't understand," he said quietly, "is how you can say that. Especially after the cabin. After what you told me—after the way you broke."
She flinched."No!"
His eyes darkened lowered his voice to a fragile whisper.
"If it were just the soldiers you feared… You would've told me."
He inhaled slowly, painfully.
"Unless…"
He stepped closer—but didn't touch her.
Just leaning in. Just enough for his shadow to fall over her.Just enough to mimic the posture of a man about to force something.A silent test.
Her reaction was instant.
Her hand darted to her side—to where the gun used to be.
Pure instinct.Raw fear.
Habeel saw it.
He looked at her empty hand. At her expression. At the instinct she couldn't hide.
His jaw twitched. Something inside him cracked.
He whispered, voice breaking apart:
"…I got my answer."
He did' out. Didn't accuse.
That would've been kinder.
He stepped back from her like a man walking away from a wound he didn't know he had.
Then he turned—slow, as if every movement was heavy.
He passed the test. Passed the girl staring with wide, confused eyes.Passed the sunlight spilling through the canvas.
He climbed into the driver's seat.
Didn't even shut the door all the way.
Just sat—hands on the wheel, gaze hollow, face blank in that numb way someone looks when the hurt is too deep to show.
The engine clicked as it cooled. The wind whispered through the door.The truck felt too big, too empty.
Behind them, Ababeel stood frozen, fingers trembling, chest heaving, her body still pressed to the spot where he had pinned her.
And between them—
A wound without blood.
The little girl curled into her seat, hugging her knees as if she could fold herself small enough to disappear from the tension suffocating the air.
No one spoke.
Not a word.
The wind stirred the dust.
And for the first time since their paths collided…neither of them knew whether to stand together—
Or walk away.