At the airport, Amara found herself standing amidst the rhythmic hum of departures, her presence there a riddle she couldn't solve. She tracked the schedule of Kaisar's flight, her heart a tangled knot of emotions she refused to name.
Why am I here?
Why are my feet too heavy to turn back toward home?
Why does it feel like a physical ache now that he's actually leaving?
The man was returning to his life, to his country. There was nothing inherently wrong with that.
Amara stood frozen at a distance, a silent observer in the sea of travelers. In her line of sight, Kaisar was dragging a suitcase, his posture slumped, his expression unusually somber. A man walked beside him—a friend or perhaps a brother.
For the first time, Amara saw the layers of the man beyond the surface. He wasn't just a high-fashion model with a sharp, effortless grace. He wasn't just the gifted doctor who had reached Vero. He wasn't just the splash of vibrant color in her monochrome, slate-gray world.
