ALMOST THERE

CHAPTER 15: "You came?"..."You called."

Jeena Jeena - Atif Aslam
💌💭🕯️💔

The school gates stood like the jaws of some ancient beast, yawning wide to swallow me whole. I slipped through them with my head down, the morning mist clinging to my skin like a second layer, cold and clammy.

I don't know why I'm here so early. It's not like me. But then again, what is like me these days?

My feet had led me here on their own, like they knew where I needed to be before my brain did.

I move through the empty corridors, each step echoing off the walls, and the familiar smell of chalk dust and old wood wraps around me.

I used to find it comforting, that routine scent, like a promise that everything was in its place. But now, even the air feels different-too sharp, too charged, like the world is holding its breath and I'm the only one who hasn't noticed.

I find myself by my locker, my hands gripping the cold metal handle like it's the only thing keeping me upright.

I've always been the tough one-the one who doesn't let anything in. My guards are high, my walls thicker than most people could scale.

It's who I've had to be, who I've told myself I am. It's always been easier that way. Easier to pretend I'm above it all, to focus on what matters, to keep myself from getting tangled up in things like emotions or attachments.

But today, something feels off-kilter, like all my defenses are slipping away, one by one, and I can't decide whether to pull them back up or let them fall.

Each breath feels too loud, echoing in the emptiness around me, and every heartbeat pounds in my ears like a warning.

My hands tremble against the locker, and I curl them into fists, trying to steady myself, but the shaking doesn't stop.

I've faced tougher things than this. I've stood firm when others crumbled, stared loss and fear in the face without flinching.

I've always managed to hold it together. But this... this feels different.

Like there's something fragile inside me now, a crack that wasn't there before, and with every hour that passes without hearing from him, it widens just a bit more, deepening in ways I don't know how to repair.

It threatens to pull me under, and I don't know if I have the strength-or maybe the desire-to stop it.

I close my eyes, pressing my forehead against the cool metal, and try to breathe through the ache in my chest.

I've built my whole life around not needing anyone. Around being enough on my own.

And yet, here I am, unraveling over the thought of him hurt, alone, or worse. My mind circles back to that single grey tick on my phone, over and over like a broken record, and the void of silence that stretches out with it.

I shouldn't be like this. I'm not the type to lose sleep over someone else, to let my mind spiral with possibilities.

I know better than that.

I've taught myself to be better than that.

But these past few days have shown me something I didn't want to see.

Something I wasn't ready to admit.

My heart pounds in my ears, too loud, too fast, drowning out every rational thought.

I think about his laugh-the way it always seems to find me in the middle of a crowded room, wrapping around me like a warm blanket on a cold day.

I think about the way he calls me Shehzadi-- God, I don't think I'll ever get over that feeling --like it's a joke between us, but there's something softer underneath, something that has always made my chest tighten.

I think about his stupid grin, the one that lights up his whole face when he's teasing me, and how I'd do anything to see it right now.

I want to punch him for making me feel like this-for tearing down my walls without even trying. For being the one person who's made me realize how much I care, how much I...

I swallow hard, pushing that thought away before it can fully form. I can't go there. Not now. Not when I don't even know if he's-

I shove my hands into my pockets, trying to anchor myself in the present. The minutes drag by, each one heavier than the last, and I start to wonder if he's even coming today.

Maybe he won't.

Maybe he's still at the hospital, or maybe he's home, lying in bed with his arm in a cast, unreachable and untouchable.

Maybe he-

"Shehzadi?"

The all too familiar voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts like a knife, sharp and clear.

I freeze, not sure if I should be rejoicing that my ears were finally blessed with the words I've been dying to hear, or just stand there like a fricking idiot.

For a moment, I think I'm imagining it, that my mind has finally broken under the weight of my own worry.

But then I see him, standing there in the hallway, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

Shahaan.