***
{Inside The Projection}
They moved through the streets of the Holy City with a strange kind of silence. Noise was there—merchants calling out their prices, children running with flatbread in their hands, the call of owls overhead—but between Malik and Layla, nothing seemed to stick.
They walked side by side, neither quite leading nor lagging.
Every few steps, people would glance, murmur, and point.
A Sultan and his wife, together in the open.
The kebab in Malik's hand had long since cooled.
He hadn't taken a bite, and Layla hadn't asked why.
Their quiet didn't grow comfortable over time; it only stretched thin.
After a while, however, Malik's voice surprisingly broke through:
"The weather is turning hot, huh?"
And it was the safest thing he could've said.
"What?"
Layla turned to him, brows lifting.
"You don't even feel heat."
He nodded once.
"...I don't."
She sighed, shaking her head.
