The closet door creaked open like it had been holding its breath—and Habeel exploded out of it first, stumbling into the light with the desperation of a man freshly freed from solitary confinement.
He stretched every limb he possessed—arms, back, calves, even toes—each joint cracking so loudly it might've sent the neighbours into another panic.
"Aaaah—finally!" he groaned, rolling his neck until it popped. "Good for you, you small dwarf. You don't get cramped."
Ababeel shoved her way out after him, hair sticking out in every direction, clutching her bat like she wanted to commit a mild homicide. She glared, voice sharp as broken glass.
"EXCUSE ME? At least I fit into small places! You looked like a dying camel in there."
He pouted."Yeah? Well… at least camels are majestic."
"Majestic?? You were breathing like a malfunctioning washing machine!"
"That's because your hair tried to suffocate me—smells like fruity death."
She swatted him with the bat—not hard, but very threateningly."Repeat it. I dare you."
Hands up, he surrendered immediately.
"Okay, okay—enough with the flirting—"
"WHO. IS. FLIRTING?!"
He blinked."Right. My mistake. Enough with the play-fighting, then. We need supplies. Bags. Food. First aid. Knives. Anything you have."
Still glaring, she marched off like a tiny general and returned dragging not one, but two monstrous camping backpacks—practically the size of refrigerators.
Habeel stared."…Are you sure you're not secretly in the army?"
"No," she said, shrugging casually. "I just like being prepared."
"Okay, scout girl. Let's move!"
They dropped to the floor and began stuffing the bags with anything remotely useful.
Canned food thudded into the bottom. Protein bars followed. A first-aid kit.Three flashlights.Two bottles of water.A suspiciously aggressive pepper spray.Bandages.Painkillers.Her favourite hoodie—because "What if I get emotional and need comfort?"And an entire box of biscuits she refused to justify because "Don't judge my essentials."
Their hands shook, but they worked fast—hyper-focused in the middle of the storm rising outside.
Then—BANG—BANG—BANG!
Gunshots cracked like thunder.
They froze.
Ababeel's soul left her body."THEY HAVE FUCKING GUNS!!"
Habeel nodded rapidly—head wobbling like it wasn't properly attached."Mhm—yes—correct—WHICH MEANS PLEASE HURRY YOUR ASS UP!"
They doubled their speed immediately, shoving items so aggressively into the bags that it was practically assault.
When the last zipper closed, both turned to stare at the front door.
The hallway.The stairs.The place where the gunshots were getting closer to.
Absolutely not.
Habeel scanned the room in a panic."Why is there no fire exit? Who designs a death trap like this?"
Ababeel threw her hands up."Because this is a CHEAP building! Our landlord spends money on perfumes, not safety!"
He blinked."That's… comforting."
She crossed her arms."So what now? Jump from the balcony? Fly away? Grow WINGS?"
He flicked her forehead.
"Ow! What was that for?!"
"For the good idea hiding behind all your sarcasm," he snapped."We make a rope. Pack your ropes too. I'll get the sheets."
Ababeel paused."Oh…"
"Yeah—OH!" he shouted.
She dove back into the closet and tossed three climbing ropes into her backpack, as if she were in an action movie. Habeel sprinted to her room and ripped off the bedsheets like a man being chased by his sins.
They sat on the floor, heads close, hands busy—tying, pulling, knotting sheet after sheet into a long, desperate escape rope. The knots tightened like clenched fists.
"I look like I'm preparing for a prison break," she muttered.
Habeel smirked—despite everything."Good. Because tonight? That's exactly what we're doing."
The final knot clicked into place.
The building trembled faintly. Gunshots echoed again—closer this time, sharper, too real to ignore.
Both of them lifted their eyes toward the balcony.
Their only exit.Their only chance. Their entire survival hangs from a rope made of bedsheets and bad decisions.
And they moved toward it—together.