I couldn't sleep that night.
I tossed and turned, my heart heavy, mind full.
His words wouldn't leave me.
"Sometimes, the most broken hearts glow brightest in the dark."
What did he mean by that?
And why did I feel like he was slowly breaking something inside me… not with violence, but with the softness of hidden pain?
I walked to class the next day with a storm in my chest.
And there he was.
Zahid Ali. Dressed in black again. Gloves on. Mask covering half his face.
But his eyes—those cold, unreadable eyes—softened for a moment when they met mine.
I saw it.
And it terrified me more than any mask.
Because for the first time…
I wanted him to care.
I sat in silence while he taught.
But my mind drifted.
Back to my own nightmares.
To the day I lost myself.
I was six.
Blood on my shoes.
A man lying still.
A scream frozen in my throat.
I had seen someone killed—right before my eyes.
Since then, I couldn't look at blood.
I couldn't stay alone in the dark.
I couldn't trust anyone who made me feel unsafe.
But Zahid, despite his darkness, made me feel safe… and that confused me more than anything.
After class, he didn't speak. He didn't look at me.
And that… hurt.
Why did it hurt?
I was about to leave when I heard the words that made my heart stop.
"Do you dream of it, too?"
I turned slowly. He stood behind me, hands in pockets, mask hiding everything but his voice.
"What?" I whispered.
"The blood. The screams. The moment you stopped being a child."
My eyes burned.
"How… how do you know?"
"I see it in your eyes," he replied softly. "Because I dream of it, too."
We ended up walking in silence.
Not speaking. Not touching. Just… walking side by side in a world that never gave either of us peace.
"I wasn't born like this, you know," he said quietly as we reached the steps outside the library.
I sat beside him.
"Like what?" I asked.
"Cold. Unfeeling. Violent."
"Then how did you become… this?"
He looked away.
"I trusted the wrong people. Loved the wrong people. And when everything fell apart, I didn't die… I just stopped living."
I felt my chest tighten.
"I'm not scared of your face," I said.
He turned to me, startled.
"I'm scared of your silence. Your sadness. Your pain."
He looked at me like he wanted to believe that.
But he couldn't.
"I've killed people, Rida," he said, voice like ice. "I've done things no one can forgive."
"I'm not here to forgive you," I replied. "I'm just… here."
That night, something changed between us.
We didn't speak of it.
But in the silence, a bond was born.
Not love.
Not trust.
But the beginning of something that neither of us could name.
I returned home and stood in front of the mirror.
I looked at myself. At the girl who once fainted at the sight of blood.
At the girl who now sat beside a killer and didn't flinch.
Why?
Was I changing?
Or was he?
That night, I had a nightmare again.
Blood on my hands.
A scream.
The child in me sobbing in the corner.
But this time, in the dream, a hand reached out.
Gloved.
Silent.
But steady.
And for the first time…
I didn't wake up screaming.