Yusra: Don't hurt me in the way I cannot even recover.
Shazal: Do you not realize, there's no one but you for me?
Daniyal: She let the tears fall, but it weren't for me.
Zumar: You fall in love and then, fall out of it.
It's not that big of a deal.
...
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๑ 🥀 ๑
The house is so silent that Zumar feels as if she has lost her hearing. The oppressive quiet is both irritating and terrifying. She taps the side table next to her bed to revive her hearing aids, and the gentle taps reassure her that her auditory nerves are just fine.
So why is it so quiet?
Glancing at the wall clock, she sees that it is eleven o'clock. Determined to find out the cause of this deafening silence, she decides to leave her room.
The corridor outside her door is empty, and when she looks down from the upstairs landing, she can't see anyone in the main hall either. Her best bet is the kitchen-someone might be there.
Walking back into her room, she picks up a half-filled water bottle and empties it into a nearby planter before heading out.
To her surprise, as she descends the stairs, Zumar finds Adeel standing in front of the ornate mirror, an antique piece with an intricately carved wooden frame fixed on the side wall, meticulously adjusting his hair. The mirror reflected his smirk perfectly. He had a bag hung on one of his shoulders, indicating he might be going to college.
"Had your beauty sleep?" he asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm. She shoots him a glare but remains silent.
"Where are you going?" he prods again, clearly enjoying the irritation he's causing.
"To the kitchen," she replies, her voice laced with annoyance.
"Got a hangover or something? From what I heard, last night was pretty wild for you all. And I know someone who had a terrible one," he smirks.
Zumar feels a surge of anger so strong that she momentarily considers smashing the empty bottle she's holding right onto his smug face. She imagines yanking his perfectly styled hair until he looks as dishevelled as he truly is beneath the surface.
Control. She reminds herself.
"We didn't go to a club," she says, trying to maintain her composure and keeping her head high.
He raises his eyebrows, clearly not buying it. "But you did go to a party," he retorts, his smirk widening. "With alcohol served as drinks and whatnot."
"What's your problem with me?" she snaps, her patience wearing thin. She just wants to get away from him and his incessant needling.
"Me? I have no problem with you," he replies, feigning innocence, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Yeah, seems so," she mutters, rolling her eyes as she tries to sidestep him.
"You know, sis," he continues, blocking her path with an almost casual lean against the bannister, "you're always so uptight. Maybe if you loosened up a bit, you'd actually enjoy life."
"And maybe if you minded your own business, we wouldn't have these conversations," she shoots back.
"Touché," he says, chuckling. "But seriously, Zumar, you need to lighten up. Life's too short to be this serious all the time."
