Laced in Your Ruin

Chapter [XII]: The Distance Between Us

Qays Malik had always believed that distance was the best defense. It kept emotions at bay, kept people from getting too close, and most importantly, ensured that he never felt the sting of disappointment again.

Yet, lately, that defense had started to crumble—crack by crack, moment by moment. And it had everything to do with a certain girl who walked the campus halls with an air of quiet defiance, a girl who challenged him without fear, a girl he was never supposed to care about.

Inara Alawi.

That name had started to take up space in his mind in ways he hadn't expected. She wasn't extraordinary by society's definition—no wealth, no connections, no influence. And yet, she carried herself with a dignity that made her stand out in a crowd of people desperate to be noticed.

And Qays hated that he noticed her.

Because the more he noticed, the more difficult it became to ignore.

A Week ago

It had been an ordinary literature class, the same dull atmosphere, the same monotonous discussions about poetry that Qays only half-listened to. He had taken this course as an extra subject, something to pass time before graduation, something that wouldn't require much effort.

And yet, today, his attention had been hooked—not by the professor, not by the syllabus, but by an offhand comment made by someone sitting a few seats away.

"I must say, Inara, you have a beautiful way with words," a guy from their class—Arman, was it?—remarked with a grin. "The way you analyze poetry, it's fascinating. Ever thought about writing professionally?"

Qays hadn't been paying attention to Inara's response. He didn't even care about Arman. But something about the way those words were spoken—so casual, so admiring—made his fingers clench around the pen in his hand.

Beautiful.

Fascinating.

It wasn't even a flirtation, just a harmless compliment. And yet, Qays felt a sharp, inexplicable irritation settle in his chest.

Why did it bother him?

Why did he find himself stealing a glance at Inara, waiting for her reaction?

She had only given a polite, almost indifferent smile, shaking her head. "Writing professionally is not my goal. I just like literature."

A simple, dismissive response. No excitement, no interest in Arman's words.

That should have been the end of it.

But for the rest of the class, Qays found himself unable to shake the annoyance.

And when Arman had leaned in just slightly closer to pass Inara a book, Qays had nearly snapped his pen in half.

He needed to leave.

Qays had already received acceptance letters from top universities abroad. He had declined them for undergrad, but for his postgraduate studies, he was seriously considering it.

Not because of ambition. Not because of academic excellence.

But because the walls he had built around himself were no longer strong enough.

Because every time he saw Inara, something in him itched—an emotion he didn't want to name, a distraction he couldn't afford.

Because when he saw Arman—or any other guy—direct even a fraction of attention toward her, it set off something unsettling in his chest.

And Qays didn't want to acknowledge that feeling.

So, he did what he had always done best.

He planned to run.

Away from his parents. Away from expectations.

And away from her.