That night, after the laughter of the Eid gathering faded into the soft hum of night, Amira lay on her bed, phone resting on her chest, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Noor had fallen asleep already, still smiling faintly in her dreams.
But Amira's thoughts wouldn't rest.
Her heart still hadn't slowed down from that call.
She replayed every glance, every word Zayn had said—not to her, of course. He hadn't addressed her once. But his voice had a weight she couldn't ignore. And his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
Her screen lit up.
Zara: Hi! whats up?
amira didn't reply...
Zara: You okay?
Amira stared at the message, her chest tightening slightly.
She hesitated. Then replied.
Amira: Yeah. Just tired.
Seconds passed. Then:
Zara: You look a little off today. I could tell something's bothering you.
Amira bit her lip. That strange feeling again—the one that always came with Zara. The voice that once comforted her. The girl who felt like a friend. Who she now knew… wasn't really who she claimed to be.
Still, part of her wanted to lean on her.
Amira: Just some family stuff.
Zara: You wanna talk about it?
Amira hesitated again. Then slowly typed:
Amira: Do you ever feel like someone's close to you… but they're completely out of reach? Like you know them, but they don't even see you anymore?
Zara took a moment to reply.
Zara: All the time.
That answer made something inside Amira soften and ache at the same time.
Zara: Sometimes I wish I could go back and fix things. But some damage... just doesn't undo.
Amira stared at those words. The guilt in them. The weight.
Was she talking about Zayn?
Or… herself?
Amira: Do you still miss him?
Zara went quiet for almost two minutes.
Then came the answer:
Zara: Yes. But it doesn't matter now.
Amira sat up in bed, her heart tight.
She typed… then deleted.
Typed again.
Amira: Sometimes I think I don't even know you at all.
This time, Zara didn't reply.
And for some reason, that silence felt louder than anything she could've said.
Zayn after video call:
The screen blinked to black.
Zayn leaned back against his chair, exhaling slowly. His siblings had already wandered off, laughing about something. Eid was over, but the weight in his chest hadn't moved an inch.
He raked a hand through his hair.
Amira.
He hadn't said her name out loud in years, but it echoed in his head now like a half-sung melody from another life.
She was there on the call. Her voice was quieter than he remembered, maybe softer. Her face was different too—more grown up, more... distant. He noticed the faint smile she gave Noor, the way her eyes stayed away from his.
It wasn't anger in her eyes. Not exactly. But it wasn't the same spark either.
Something had changed.
Maybe because of what happened.
Maybe because of what she thinks happened.
Maybe because he deserved it.
He pressed his thumb against his brow, sighing. It wasn't like he could explain. He couldn't tell her what he'd been through with Ayesha. He couldn't tell her how everything had gotten so complicated, how guilt lived in the silence between him and Amira now.
And still, for a second—just a second—he had looked at her, hoping she'd meet his eyes.
She didn't.
Zayn stood up, pacing a little. He stopped by his window, watching the faint lights of the neighborhood. Then, without really thinking, he picked up his phone and scrolled. Just once.
Her profile picture popped up.
Still the same. Just her, smiling faintly, eyes not quite meeting the lens.
He remembered teasing her once, years ago. She used to get flustered so easily. He never meant to hurt her. He just… liked seeing her react. Liked being noticed by her.
Then she changed. Started avoiding him. Then came that weird message. Then silence.
Now?
Now she was like a stranger who knew all his childhood secrets.
He locked his phone and set it down with a soft thud.
"Whatever you're thinking, Amira," he muttered, "you're probably wrong."
But he didn't know how to fix it.
And he didn't know if he should.
He sat back down, letting his head fall against the chair's back, staring at the ceiling like it had answers.
Suddenly, a memory tugged at him—random, but clear.
Amira had once sent him old photos of himself. He couldn't remember why exactly… some excuse, probably. Something silly.
She'd found them in an old album, scanned and sent them with a bunch of emojis.
He remembered one of her messages:
"Who even let you dress like that? 😂 You look like a lost potato in that sweater."
He'd smiled at it. Not just at the joke, but at her boldness.
She rarely acted that way around him—playful, teasing, a little cheesy even. It was out of character for her.
That day she didn't feel like his cousin.
She felt like something else.
Something warm.
Something he didn't want to define.
He frowned, shifting in his seat.
Back then, he told himself he just saw her as a kid. His cousin.
Someone who'd grow out of her awkwardness, and maybe find someone better.
So why…
Why did it bother him when she started avoiding him?
Why did it sting when her eyes didn't find him today?
He rubbed his chest, right over his heart.
"She's just my cousin. Just Amira."
But even as he said it, the words felt hollow. Ayesha's face flashed across his mind, her voice telling him not to contact her again. Her cold detachment. The way she'd cut the cord without a second thought.
"I don't want someone who gives up just because it's hard."
He thought he loved her. Really, he did. But maybe he was just too young. Maybe he mistook the secrecy, the thrill, the rebellion—for something deeper.
Because love didn't feel like being blamed for not trying hard enough.
Love didn't feel like one person walking away while the other stood there, confused.
"Then why the hell am I comparing them?"
He ran a hand down his face.
Maybe because... Amira had never needed to try.
She didn't have to say anything.
And still, she made him feel noticed.
Like he mattered.
Even if she hated him now.
He let out a tired laugh.
"What a mess…"