The front door didn't slam.
That's how I knew he didn't want to be heard.
It closed softly. Carefully. Like he had practiced it.
For three full seconds, I couldn't move.
Maybe he's just taking the trash out.
Maybe he forgot something in the car.
Maybe this isn't it.
But paranoia doesn't accept maybe.
It demands action.
I grabbed my hoodie and followed.
The night air was damp, heavy with the smell of rain that hadn't fallen yet. Streetlights flickered in long, tired blinks. The world felt paused.
Malik was halfway down the street.
He wasn't running.
He wasn't scared.
He walked with purpose.
That terrified me more than anything.
"Malik," I whispered.
He didn't turn.
I walked faster.
"Malik."
This time he stopped.
Slowly, he looked over his shoulder.
"I knew you'd follow me," he said.
His voice wasn't angry.
It was certain.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Nowhere."
"Nowhere is not halfway down the street at midnight."
He faced me fully now.
"I needed air."
"You could've opened a window."
"I needed air without you watching me."
That hurt more than it should have.
"I'm not watching you."
"You are." His eyes narrowed. "Like I'm about to explode."
Silence settled between us.
A car passed at the end of the street.
Too fast.
My pulse spiked.
"Let's just go home," I said.
"No."
The word was quiet.
But final.
He stepped closer.
Too close.
"Tell me what's wrong with you."
There it was again.
That question.
Like a blade he kept pressing gently into my ribs.
"Nothing's wrong with me."
"You flinch when I touch you."
I said nothing.
"You act like something bad is going to happen."
Silence.
"And you look at me like I'm already gone."
My throat tightened.
Because he wasn't wrong.
He stepped even closer.
"If you don't tell me, I'm going to make you."
Before I could react, he grabbed my wrist.
Firm.
Intentional.
The world snapped.
"I shouldn't have left."
The sentence crashed into me so hard I stumbled.
Left.
Left where?
Left tonight?
Left tomorrow?
Left me?
I ripped my hand free.
"Don't," I gasped.
"You heard something again!" he shouted.
"Stop touching me!"
"Then tell me what's going on!"
His voice cracked — not with anger.
With hurt.
And that was worse.
Because suddenly I understood something.
The sentences were changing.
First: It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
Then: I wish I never knew.
Then: She's the reason.
Now: I shouldn't have left.
They weren't random.
They were connected.
They were building toward something.
Something involving distance.
Choice.
Regret.
"You're scaring me," he whispered.
The same word from before.
Scaring.
I took a step back.
And another.
Because what if the only way to stop him from leaving…
is to push him away first?
"Go home," I said coldly.
"What?"
"You wanted air? You got it. Now go home."
His face shifted.
Confusion. Pain.
"You followed me."
"I changed my mind."
He stared at me like he didn't recognize me.
And maybe he didn't.
Because something inside me had hardened.
If leaving is part of the future…
Maybe I need to control when it happens.
He turned away first.
Walked back toward the house.
I didn't follow this time.
I stayed under the flickering streetlight.
Alone.
Breathing too fast.
Because deep down, something felt wrong.
Not relieved.
Not safer.
Just wrong.
When I finally went back inside, Malik's bedroom door was closed.
Locked.
He had never locked it before.
I stood outside it for a long time.
Almost knocking.
Almost apologizing.
But apologies can also change futures.
And I didn't know which direction this one was going.
So I walked away.
In my room, I sat on the edge of my bed and whispered the sentences out loud.
"It wasn't supposed to happen like this."
"I wish I never knew."
"She's the reason."
"I shouldn't have left."
They didn't sound like separate futures anymore.
They sounded like one story.
And I was somewhere in the middle of it.
Midnight passed.
His birthday had begun.
And for the first time since this started…
I felt something worse than fear.
I felt inevitability.
Like no matter what I did now—
Something had already decided how this would end.