I stepped out of the gate, the morning air still holding that crisp coolness that made the city feel quieter than it really was. My shoes clicked softly against the pavement, the familiar route to school stretching ahead. It was routine, almost muscle memory by now—walk past the bakery with its sweet smell of fresh buns, ignore the noisy mechanics arguing about football, and keep my eyes fixed on the corner where Zahir Bookshop stood.
Because that's where he would be.
And, sure enough, there he was. Ahad Sultan Shah.
Hands shoved casually in the pockets of his grey school trousers, white shirt sleeves rolled just enough to look like he hadn't tried but still somehow looked like the lead of every school drama ever. His tie hung perfectly, not too loose, not too tight, like it belonged exactly that way on him. The morning light caught in his hair—black with a hint of wave—and for a moment I hated how effortlessly… well, put together he was.
He wasn't looking at me. Not yet. He had this habit of pretending he hadn't noticed me until I was close enough to hear him speak. And even then, it was never a smile right away. First came the eyes.
And his eyes were already on me before I'd even crossed the street.
Light brown, sharp enough to notice things I didn't want anyone to notice. They weren't the kind of eyes that just looked at you—they searched you, like they were waiting for you to give away something you didn't even know you were holding.
I swallowed the smile that wanted to rise. No need to make it obvious.
"Morning," I said when I reached him, adjusting my bag strap.
"Morning," he replied, low and easy. Like he hadn't been waiting. Like this was coincidence.
It wasn't. It never was.
We fell into step without deciding to, the way we always did. It was unspoken. The rhythm of our footsteps matched, his longer strides slowing just enough for mine. His arm brushed mine once, then again, just slightly, and I could swear he did it on purpose, even though his gaze stayed forward, scanning the road like he was looking for trouble.
"Good day yesterday?" he asked casually.
He knew I hadn't been at school. He knew exactly why, too.
"It was fine," I said, keeping my voice light. "Spent the day with Ali."
His jaw tightened. I noticed because I was looking for it, even if I told myself I wasn't. His hands stayed in his pockets, but his shoulders went a fraction straighter.
"Hmm," was all he said. But it wasn't just a 'hmm.' It was one of those 'hmm's that could carry an entire argument if you let it.
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He looked… the same. Calm. Cold, almost. Except for that small shift in his expression that most people wouldn't catch. I caught it.
"You're quiet," I said.
He turned his head just slightly, and one corner of his mouth tugged up like he'd just caught me trying to read him. "And you're nosy."
I scoffed. "I'm making conversation."
"And I'm walking."
I rolled my eyes and looked ahead, deciding not to push. But my heart was annoyingly aware of him beside me.
The road to school narrowed near the park, forcing us closer. His arm brushed mine again, this time firmer. He didn't move away. I didn't either.
Zahir Bookshop faded behind us, replaced by the quiet hum of morning traffic and the distant ringing of the first school bell. We weren't in a rush—Ahad never rushed. Somehow, he always reached exactly on time.
"Ali seemed happy yesterday," he said suddenly.
I blinked at him. "You saw him?"
"No." His lips curved into the faintest smirk. "You just said his name like five minutes ago. Figured he'd be happy."
My steps slowed just a bit. "You're ridiculous."
He didn't answer, but the smirk stayed, like he'd won something I hadn't realised was a game.
We reached the school gates, and for a moment, it felt like the walk had been shorter than usual. He finally glanced at me properly then, and it wasn't just a glance—it was one of those steady looks that made you feel like you were in the middle of a sentence you hadn't started yet.
"See you inside," he said, before heading toward his usual spot by the field where Zaffar and the others hung out before assembly.
I watched him go for a second too long before turning toward the building.
It wasn't fair, really. How someone could be both the most infuriating and the most reassuring part of my mornings.
And as I made my way down the hallway, I found myself smiling—not because of anything he'd said, but because he'd been there. Like he always was.
I had barely entered the campus when I spotted Sara coming from the opposite side.
"Iman!" she called, waving as if I'd been gone for months.
I smiled and closed the distance between us. She pulled me into a quick hug that smelled faintly of her lavender perfume. "I'll wait for you at the assembly ground," she said with an exaggerated seriousness. "Go drop your bag in class first. Today's assembly is in the courtyard."
"You go ahead," I told her. "I'll come on my own."
Sara raised an eyebrow as if she'd caught something suspicious, but then shrugged and walked off with her usual bounce. I took the staircase two steps at a time, heading toward my classroom.
The hallway was oddly quiet when I entered. Desks sat perfectly still, sunlight stretching across them in long yellow bars. No one was around, so I quickly set my bag down on my chair, adjusted my sleeves, and made my way back toward the stairs.
I was halfway down when I heard it.
"Iman."
The voice had a certain confidence in it—lazy yet commanding. I turned to find Hashim leaning casually against the railing a few steps below me. His posture was careless, but his eyes were anything but. He was the kind of guy who carried his last name like a badge, the kind everyone knew had more money than manners. And yet, there was always that polished arrogance about him that people found… magnetic.
I didn't. Not really.
Still, I gave him a polite nod. "Morning, Hashim."
"Morning," he echoed, falling into step beside me as we continued downstairs. "You weren't around yesterday," he said, almost like an accusation.
"I was busy." My tone was neutral, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Busy making the world prettier?" His lips curved in that way that suggested he thought he was being clever. "Because it's unfair for us mortals when you disappear."
I gave a small laugh—more out of courtesy than anything. He was trying, I'd give him that. But my mind was already elsewhere, scanning the crowd ahead in the courtyard for a very different face.
"You look… different today," he went on, his gaze deliberately taking in my outfit. "In a good way."
"Thanks," I replied, offering a polite smile. Inside, I was thinking about how pointless this conversation felt. My eyes kept flicking past the heads in the crowd, searching for one particular pair of grey pants and a white shirt—Ahad's uniform, neat but never too perfect, just like him.
By the time we reached the courtyard, Hashim was still talking. Something about a basketball match, then about how I should come watch sometime. I nodded where appropriate, the kind of automatic responses you give when you're half listening.
We reached the assembly lines, and he peeled off toward his class's row with an easy wave. I moved into mine, slipping in behind Sara.
And then I felt it.
That shift in the air when you know someone is watching you.
I didn't have to turn around to confirm it, but I did anyway. Just for a second. Ahad was there—second line behind mine, his expression unreadable, but his gaze? Sharp. It wasn't the casual kind of glance you give a friend. No, this was a quiet, searching scan of the crowd until it landed exactly where Hashim stood.
His jaw flexed.
I faced forward again, trying to ignore the way my pulse ticked faster. The school captain's voice boomed through the microphone, calling for silence, but I could feel the weight of Ahad's stare like it was anchored in the middle of my back.
Prayer time. The lines straightened. Heads bowed.
And in the small shuffle that followed, I caught movement from the corner of my eye. Ahad was stepping out of his spot, exchanging a few words with the boy standing at my side. A brief nod, a switch, and suddenly—just like that—Ahad was right next to me.
Close enough that I could see the faint crease on his shirt sleeve, close enough to catch the scent of his clean, understated cologne.
Neither of us spoke.
The prayer began, voices rising in unison, but Ahad's attention wasn't on the words. I could sense it without even looking—his eyes kept drifting past me, past Sara, locking directly on Hashim standing in the opposite row.
If there was one thing about Ahad, it was that he never said more than he had to. But when he was silent like this, it was louder than most people's shouting.
The prayer ended. Applause for some announcement followed, and we all began to disperse toward our classes.
Ahad still hadn't spoken.
I glanced up at him, curious, but his face was unreadable—except for the flicker in his eyes when Hashim laughed at something one of his classmates said.
"You're quiet," I finally remarked as we walked toward the stairs.
"I'm thinking," he said simply.
"About?"
He glanced at me, one corner of his mouth lifting—but it wasn't amusement. It was something else. "About how some people should learn where their place is."
I blinked,unsure if I was meant to understand that. Before I could ask, Sara appeared from the side corridor, chatting about the new schedule for sports day, and Ahad's words got lost in the noise.
But the look he'd given Hashim earlier lingered in my mind all through first period.