While chaos swirled around her, Leila Zaman stood still—calm on the surface, but only she knew the storm suffocating her from within. Her chest ached with the weight of silence and the sharp sting of helplessness. As everything around her unraveled, she tried—desperately—to hold it together. To salvage the situation, or perhaps, to mend what had already begun to fall apart.
Though this tension had become a grim part of their daily lives, tonight, Leila wished to end it once and for all.
Across the room, Amara Zaman struggled to breathe, her thoughts fraying at the edges. Her hands trembled as she clutched her chest, trying to ground herself.
Ayesha Nasar's voice cut through the room like a jagged blade, repeating the same words over and over again—like a broken radio trapped in a loop—trying to convince everyone that every syllable she uttered was law, a divine decree.
Zaman Ahmed stood quietly to the side, detached, as if none of this chaos bore his name. As if he wasn't at the heart of it.
Without hesitation, Leila rushed to Amara, recognizing the signs of an oncoming panic attack. She wrapped her arms tightly around her elder sister, whispering soothing words in her ear, grounding her. But Leila's own mind was far from still—it was a battlefield of voices and buried fears.
"Enough," she said firmly, her voice low but sharp. "Stop making a scene in the middle of the night."
She helped Amara to her feet and guided her away, motioning to her younger brother. "Daim," she called gently, "come with us."
Together, the three of them retreated into their shared room. Leila closed the door behind them, muting the sounds of Ayesha shouting at Zaman Ahmed, though the words still leaked through the walls like a curse unwilling to let go.
For a brief moment, silence settled.
Each of them sank into their own space, lost in thought, processing the night in their own way. Though they were siblings—bound by blood—they were also three completely different people, shaped by their own pain, perceptions, and quiet battles.
Leila was the first to emerge from the silence.
She looked at Amara and Daim, and with a deep breath, began to speak—not in bitterness or complaint, but with a tone threaded in calm and care. She spoke gently, choosing her words like soft threads to stitch the wounds left by what had just transpired. She knew their hearts well—perhaps better than they did themselves—and her voice, though quiet, carried the power to settle storms.
Because that was who Leila was—sharp-eyed, thoughtful, and full of quiet courage. The one who stood still when everything else fell apart.