°☆•° Chapter 1 °•☆°
⊹ ₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆₊⋆☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆₊ ⊹
The lecture ended, and the room erupted.
Chairs scraped loudly, the sound echoing through the room.
Voices rose sharply, overlapping like waves.
Pens clicked.
Books slammed shut.
Bags hit the wooden desks, then zipped closed.
Footsteps moved in every direction.
Laughter. Questions. Confusion. Complaints.
Voices continued to echo, some making plans, some confused about the lesson, some asking each other questions, others tired of essays and exams.
Everything crashed into everything else, blending together as it slowly blurred in her mind.
None of the noise was processed.
None of it reached her.
She just sat there. Still.
Looking out of the window. Gray sky. Thick clouds. Wind pressing against the glass.
One sound after another, the noise slowly faded. Not completely, just lowered, like someone had turned the volume down to almost nothing.
A laugh burst out behind her.
Someone walked past, knocking into her desk. Her pencil rolled off the edge.
They kept going. No apology. No pause.
As if she wasn’t even there.
She didn’t react.
Didn’t turn.
Didn’t notice.
The pencil lay on the floor beside her chair, untouched.
Everything felt cold. Not sharp, not painful… just empty. Like there was nothing left for her to reach for, nothing that asked her to care.
She blinked slowly.
Then stood.
The chair scraped softly against the floor, the sound small, easily swallowed by the room. She gathered her things without looking, sliding them from the desk into her bag. Some made it in. Some didn’t.
She didn’t check.
A pen slipped from her hand and hit the ground.
She left it there.
The zipper closed with a quiet, final sound. She pulled the strap over one shoulder, adjusting it slightly before letting it rest.
For a moment, she stood beside the desk.
No one spoke to her.
No one looked at her.
Then she stepped forward.
Slowly, step by step, she walked out of the classroom.
The hallway was crowded. Voices, movement, life continuing all around her but it passed through her like air.
She continued walking.
Laughter rose sharply, then disappeared just as quickly. Talking, shouting, laughing. They came and went. Nothing stayed, as if it didn’t matter. Everyone’s faces blurred, and everything around her felt gray and heavy.
No one slowed down. Neither did she.
Her body moved automatically, as if it had a mind of its own.
She turned toward the stairs, gently pushing the door open just enough to slip through.
The air felt different now. Cooler, heavier.
Each step grew heavier than the last. The noises around her faded, replaced by her own breathing, shallow and uneven. Her heartbeat thudded faster, louder, echoing in her chest.
Each step seemed to pound against the stairs, echoing back at her.
It grew harder to continue, but she pushed through, one step at a time, until finally she reached the door at the top.
She opened it gently and stepped through.
The wind hit her first. Immediate. Cold, strong, firm. It did not bite. It did not demand anything. It simply pushed against her, as if warning her not to do something she would regret.
She continued anyway.
The rooftop stretched wide above her, gray and flat. The city lay below, moving in steady patterns. Cars flowing through streets, people reduced to tiny shapes, life continuing without notice of her.
Unaffected.
Unaware.
She walked forward. Slowly. Step by step.
Her bag slid off her shoulder, but she didn’t notice.
The edge came into view. Closer. Closer. Until it was right there.
The view was sharper now. She leaned forward slightly, just to feel the air move differently.
Nothing changed.
Nothing pulled.
Nothing called.
For a long minute, she simply stood there, watching the city continue its normal routine.
Her shoulders sank. Fingers loosened. The wind still flowed, tugging at her hair and coat.
Then, slowly, almost unconsciously, she stepped back. One step. Then another. Enough distance to breathe. Enough distance to think.
She didn’t rush. Didn’t look around. Didn’t speak.
She stood there for a few minutes, replaying thoughts, consequences, memories.
Finally, she let out an exhausted sigh. She turned around. Her bag lay on the ground. She picked it up and walked back toward the stairs.
Back to the nightmares.
She slid down the familiar stairs, the same ones that had carried her to the roof, each step weighted with the thoughts she couldn’t quite voice.
Fourth to third.
Third to second.
Second to fir—
She froze.
Through the small window in the stairwell door, she noticed someone familiar. In one of the classrooms.
Her brother.
Her eyes widened slightly as she slowly sat down on the step. She pulled her bag closer, resting it between her legs, her gaze fixed on the window.
Her heartbeat quickened.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, her fingers colder than before. She opened WhatsApp, her thumb hesitating for a second before the screen fully loaded.
His contact was there.
Waiting.
Her thumb hovered above the screen.
She looked at it.
Then back at him.
Then back at the screen again.
Her chest tightened.
What would she even say?
Her mind felt blank, yet heavy at the same time. Words were there somewhere but every time she tried to reach for them, something held her back.
Fear.
Not loud.
Not sharp.
Just enough to stop her.
Minutes passed.
Two. Five. Ten. Fifteen.
Her thumb never moved.
She wanted to text something. Anything.
But she couldn’t.
Couldn’t press send.
Couldn’t risk being ignored.
Couldn’t risk him replying.
Anything related to him felt too much.
Too heavy.
Too close.
Her breathing grew uneven as she stared at the screen, her grip tightening slightly around her phone.
Then, slowly, she closed her eyes and let out a quiet, shaky sigh.
She gave up.
She couldn’t do it.
Her phone slipped back into her pocket as she stood up. She picked up her bag and pulled the strap over her shoulder, adjusting it without really thinking.
For a moment, she stayed still.
Then she looked back.
Just for a second.
At him.
Before turning away.
And walking off.
The sky had turned greyer, thick clouds gathering overhead.
At first, it was just a few drops of rain, darkening the concrete beneath her feet.
She glanced up for a second.
Then kept walking.
The rain didn’t stay gentle for long. It grew heavier within seconds, soaking through everything. She didn’t react. Didn’t rush. Just walked straight through it.
Hana Malik.
Eighteen.
She walked quietly, slowly, leaving the university behind her.
A place she once dreamed of attending.
Now—
Just miserable.
Just boring.
Maybe this was adulthood. Who knew?
She passed people. Strangers. Unfamiliar. Unimportant.
She passed buildings. Glass. Concrete. Brick.
All dull.
She passed trees. Bare. Leafless. Still.
She passed children. Loud. Bright. Alive.
Poor children.
They didn’t know yet. Didn’t know how heavy everything would become.
She kept walking. Like she always did.
Her long black hair whipped across her face in the wind, blocking her view.
She didn’t move it away.
A car passed.
People passed.
Clouds passed.
Everything passed.
So why did she feel stuck?
Like she hadn’t moved at all. Like time had stopped—
Right at the moment everything fell apart in front of her tired, dark eyes.
Slowly, she came to a stop.
Key in hand. Automatically.
A deep breath. Automatically.
Heart racing. Automatically.
Thoughts flooding in—
Is he home?
Is he at work?
What is he doing now?
Would he finally say something?
It was always the same. And it always ended the same.
So why did she still ask?
He was gone.
Not in the way people disappear— but enough that it didn’t feel like him anymore.
And there was nothing she could do about it.
She pushed the key into the lock.
Click.
The door opened.
She stepped inside.
Dark. Empty. Hollow.
As always.
People or no people—
It never felt any different.
She slipped off her shoes and placed them on the shelf.
Quiet. Careful. Automatic.
Then she walked upstairs.
Each step familiar. Too familiar.
She reached her room and stepped inside.
Cold. Dull. Colourless.
As always.
Her bag dropped beside the desk.
Her coat fell over the chair.
She moved into the bathroom without thinking.
Everything the same.
Everything routine.
Everything automatic.
Water splashed against her face.
She looked up.
The mirror didn’t look back kindly.
Muted olive skin, damp and pale under the harsh light.
Dark eyes— smaller than they should be.
Tired in a way sleep couldn’t fix.
Her hair clung messily around her face.
Untouched. Unfixed.
She stared for a moment longer.
Then longer than that.
A mess.
She already knew.
She left the bathroom, towel in hand, and wiped her face. She changed into loose, comfortable clothes and sank onto her bed.
She lay there, staring at the ceiling. Her thoughts spun in circles—always the same. Slow. Numbing. Endless.
The room was still.
The dull gray light pressed against her eyelids. Everything felt heavier than the rain outside.
Another day. Another walk. Another room.
Everything repeated itself.
Everything felt heavier than the water sliding down the glass outside.
She stayed like that for twenty minutes before letting out a quiet sigh. Slowly, she slid off the bed, opened the door, and descended the stairs.
Her hands brushed along the railing, then the walls, then the tables as she reached the kitchen.
She moved automatically, picking up a cup and filling it with water.
She lifted it to her lips. The cool liquid slid down her throat, but it was tasteless.
The weight in her chest was everything.
A soft click echoed through the house.
Objects being shifted, footsteps approaching.
She froze mid-drink and turned.
She already knew who it was.
The footsteps stopped. She could see him now.
Short black hair. Deep brown eyes. Muted olive skin, pale and damp under the harsh light.
Same face. Different person.
Her twin—Adam Malik.
Responsible, calm, easygoing—everything she was not. The opposite of her quiet, withdrawn self.
His eyes met hers for a fraction of a second. A flicker of something. Concern. Surprise. Unease.
She looked away before it could settle, her heart beating just a little faster.
Then he moved on, absorbed in his own tasks, leaving her alone with the echo of that brief connection.
She went about her own business, climbing the stairs back to her room.
This was the most interaction they would allow themselves—for now.
⊹ ₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆₊⋆☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆₊ ⊹
