Knight Syndrome

Ameena

She almost got caught trying to hide her secret from her roommates at dawn.

They woke up earlier than usual, much to Ameena's dismay.

She froze for a second before racing into damage control drill, something she had practiced thousands of times alone.

"No, wrong door," a girl said but they all heard only the voice because the face was completely hidden behind a stack of books.

"Sorry," the others groaned and went back to bed, ignoring Ameena who was hurriedly loading all her thick rustic notebooks onto her shelf.

To normal eyes, those notebooks might look like a collector's possessions but she knew better what those pages contained. Quick tip, don't read them unless you want a secret organization tracking you down and wiping you from the earth without a trace including a Google search.

At night sometimes, when she's half-awake and alert as she always is, devious shadows seemed to dance in the room but her roommates were always fast asleep as if they were dead until thunder broke above they wouldn't budge.

"You work very hard. Too much of good is bad. Remember that!" Chakri, her roommate used to say.

Ameena would nod, would smile. But inside, she was counting. Counting the days until she could prove herself, counting the assignments that meant nothing, counting the hours spent in a life that wasn't quite hers. She was surrounded by people, but they were strangers. Strangers she could be friendly with, strangers she could share secrets with, because strangers had no control over her life. They couldn't hurt her the way family could. They couldn't trap her the way real connections did.

This was how she connected, through gigs, through espionage, through temporary encounters that left no trace. It was connection without connection, intimacy without risk. She could be herself, or versions of herself, with people who would never see her again.

"No cute guys in your department? I thought event management had all the cool people."

Ameena almost laughed at the irony of the idea.

On the subject of cute guys, she did spot one in her History of Asian Literature class during roll call.

He didn't seem to be into the dating market, neither was Ameena, but that didn't stop her from enjoying his presence like all the others trying very hard to make conversation with him about art. There was something about him, the way he sat quietly, and the way he seemed to exist in his own world. She watched him, cataloging details the way she did with everyone. But this felt different.

She would never approach him. Never. Especially if he was as sweet as he looked. Throughout the class, she was occupied with the thoughts of living a normal life. What would it be like to just be a student? To worry about grades and nothing else? To have conversations that didn't require layers, to form connections that didn't come with expiration dates?

But normal was a luxury she couldn't afford. Normal meant being vulnerable, and vulnerability meant being hurt. She had learned that lesson well twice.

"All right people, the assignment's due next week, be sure to hand in your papers before that."

Ameena felt his presence before she saw him, her shoulders tensing by default. Someone was moving closer. Her hand stilled over her notebook. Threat assessment. Escape routes. Damage control.

"Hello," he joined his hands, a gesture of formal hello. It was that cute guy. "Can I talk to you for a bit? I'm Ren."

Ameena assessed him quickly, no visible threat, open posture, genuine expression. But more than that, she felt something she hadn't felt in a long time. Curiosity. Real curiosity, not the kind she used for assignments.

This was how it always started. With a simple conversation, with someone who seemed harmless. But harmless was just another layer, another mask. The question was: what was hiding beneath his?