The horror movie ended, leaving the hotel room in a hush broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioner. Outside, the city was muted beneath the weight of midnight, the glow from distant streetlamps painting a soft gold haze on the curtains.
Rayyan set the remote down and stretched, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight across his shoulders. "So… verdict?" he asked, glancing at her.
Dee sat cross-legged on the couch, hair falling over her face, her expression unreadable. "Too predictable," she said after a pause. "The ghost should've just eaten everyone in the first five minutes and spared us the drama."
Rayyan huffed a laugh. "You're ruthless."
"Efficient," she corrected, leaning back against the armrest.
For a few beats, they sat in the dim glow of the television's afterlight. The warmth between them felt strange—like a fragile thread stretched too thin, yet refusing to snap. Dee caught herself staring at him, her gaze tracing the shape of his jaw, the small crease at his brow. Something in her chest tightened before she quickly looked away.
"I'm going to bed," she murmured, slipping off the couch.
Rayyan stood too, following at a slower pace, not close enough to crowd her but never letting her drift out of his reach. In the bedroom, she climbed into the bed, pulling the blanket up, lying stiff on her side. He moved to the other side and lay down, his back to her at first—giving her space he didn't want to give.
The room settled into silence.
She stared at the ceiling, tracing the faint shadows the city lights cast through the curtains. The air smelled faintly of pine—still clinging to them from the forest—and of something warmer, something that made her chest ache.
"Rayyan," she said suddenly, her voice low.
He turned his head just enough to see her profile. "Yeah?"
Her fingers twisted in the blanket. "I… don't understand why I…" She faltered, pressing her lips together.
He shifted fully to face her, eyes searching her expression. "Why you what?"
Her throat tightened. She wanted to say it—wanted to tell him that she didn't understand why being near him felt like stepping into a memory she couldn't see clearly, why she felt safer when his shadow was in the room, why the sound of his voice was both foreign and achingly familiar. But saying it out loud meant acknowledging something she wasn't ready to face.
Instead, she forced a small, almost teasing smile. "Why I'm still awake."
Rayyan's gaze softened, but he didn't push. He'd learned that with her, pressure only made her retreat further. "Then… stay awake with me."
Neither moved for a moment. Then he shifted onto his back, eyes on the ceiling. She did the same. The silence was no longer empty—it was full, thick, humming with something unnamed.
Her hand lay between them on the sheets, and his drifted closer, until their fingers brushed—just a touch. She didn't pull away. Neither did he.
---
Dee's mind wandered restlessly. In the darkness behind her eyes, flickers of something began to stir. Shadows of moments.
Rain. A hand gripping hers. Laughter under streetlights. The smell of petrol and burning rubber on a racetrack.
Her breath caught, but the images dissolved before she could hold them. It was like chasing smoke.
She turned her head to look at him. The light from the streetlamp outside cut across his face in bands—highlighting his cheekbone, the gentle slope of his nose, the soft curve of his lips. He looked… tired. Not in the way of someone who needed sleep, but in the way of someone who had carried something heavy for far too long.
She wondered what it was like for him—to lie here beside someone who used to know him, used to fight with him, laugh with him, maybe even… love him—and be treated like a stranger.
Her heart gave a small, traitorous ache.
---
Rayyan could feel her gaze on him, even with his eyes closed. Part of him wanted to open them, to catch her in the act, to see if there was even the smallest crack in her wall. But another part of him was afraid—that if he looked too closely, he might see nothing at all.
"I keep thinking," he said quietly, his voice just above a whisper, "that maybe one day you'll wake up and remember everything… and it'll be like this never happened."
Dee's brow furrowed. "And if I don't?"
"Then," he said, his voice steady, "I'll make new memories with you. As many as it takes."
The words lodged in her chest, hot and dangerous. She turned away, staring at the faint outline of the curtain against the window. "You sound so sure of yourself."
"I'm only sure of one thing," he said. "I'm not letting go."
She didn't answer. She couldn't. Her pulse was too loud in her ears.
---
The minutes ticked by. Neither slept.
At one point, she shifted slightly closer, just enough that her shoulder brushed his. It was such a small thing, yet it felt like stepping off a cliff.
Rayyan didn't move away.
Her eyes grew heavy, but her mind stayed awake—restless, tangled with flashes she didn't understand. She saw herself standing on a wet track at night, headlights cutting through mist. She saw Rayyan's hand reaching for her, and her own hand reaching back.
And then, softer than a breath, she heard his voice—not from now, but from somewhere else, somewhere before.
You're mine, Dee. And I don't care if the whole damn world burns for it.
She gasped softly, eyes snapping open. The hotel room was the same, Rayyan still beside her, his breathing slow.
Her hand trembled. She didn't know if it was fear… or something far more dangerous.
---
By the time dawn broke, her eyes were sore from staring at the ceiling, her body tense from holding in words she couldn't bring herself to say.
She had no idea if Rayyan had slept at all, but when she glanced at him in the morning light, his eyes opened instantly—like he'd been waiting.
"Morning," he said softly.
Something inside her wanted to smile back. Instead, she sat up, tucking her hair behind her ear. "We should get breakfast."
Rayyan only nodded, but there was a glint in his gaze—a quiet certainty, like he'd seen that flicker in her eyes during the night, and knew something had shifted.
And maybe… he was right.
Because Dee had the distinct, unsettling feeling that she was on the edge of remembering something very, very important.
---