Days passed.
Zahid didn't come to class again.
And I didn't see him around campus either.
But his absence wasn't quiet anymore.
It echoed inside me like footsteps in an empty hallway.
I was beginning to learn something strange—Missing someone you barely know… it hurts more than you'd expect.
Because I didn't just miss his presence.
I missed the calm I felt in his storm.
I missed the way he looked at me—as if I confused him.As if I mattered.
One night, around midnight, I heard a soft knock on my window.
It was raining.
I opened the curtain cautiously.
And there he was.
Soaked.
Drenched in black.
Rainwater dripping from his hair. Mask still on. But his eyes—those familiar eyes—looked tired.
Broken.
I opened the window slightly.
"Zahid?"
He looked up slowly.
"I shouldn't be here," he whispered.
"Then why are you?"
His hands gripped the window frame.
"Because when the world turns black… somehow, I still see you in color."
My breath caught.
He was shivering.
Not from cold.
But from something deeper.
Fear? Regret? Loneliness?
I didn't ask.
I just unlocked the door and let him in.
He stood silently in my small room.
His clothes left a wet trail.
But he didn't care.
He didn't move. Didn't speak.
I handed him a towel.
He took it, but didn't use it.
"Why did you really come here, Zahid?"
He looked down, almost ashamed.
"There was… a boy today," he began. "Barely seventeen. Sent to kill me. I don't know if he even knew how to hold a knife properly."
My heart clenched.
"I didn't kill him," he added softly. "I couldn't."
I sat down.
"And why not?"
He finally looked at me.
"Because… he reminded me of me."
Silence.
Cold. Heavy.
And yet, in that moment, I felt warm.
Because he was telling me the truth.
Something he probably hadn't told anyone.
I stood up and slowly walked toward him.
"I'm not afraid of your past," I whispered."I'm only afraid of losing you to it."
His mask was dripping.
His eyes were red.
Not from tears.
From holding them back.
I reached up slowly.
"I want to see the face you hide from the world," I said, hands gently brushing his cheek.
He didn't stop me.
I touched the edge of the mask.
But before I could remove it, he grabbed my wrist—firm, but not rough.
"Not yet," he said.
I nodded.
"I'll wait."
He sat down on the floor beside my bed.
I brought him dry clothes—my father's old ones.
He changed quietly in the bathroom.
When he came back, something about him felt… human.
Less monster.More man.
We talked.
Not much.
Just about little things.
Rain. Childhood. Shadows.
He told me how he never had a home that felt safe.
I told him how I still see blood every time I close my eyes.
And he listened.
He really listened.
Around 3 a.m., he fell asleep on the floor beside my bed.
I stayed up, watching him.
He looked peaceful for once.
No mask. No war. No fear.
Just a boy who grew up too fast.
And a girl who was learning that love didn't always arrive with roses.
Sometimes, it came bleeding in the rain.