Unbreakable Duty

Hard to Forget Memories

Earn steps out of the bathroom, steam trailing behind her like a ghost of warmth. Her damp hair clings to her skin as she tousles it with a towel, the fabric absorbing the lingering droplets. She moves toward the dresser, her posture loose but her actions methodical and deliberate. Every motion, from the way she sets the towel down to the slow drag of her fingers through her hair, seems carefully measured, as if she's bracing for something.

The bedside lamp bathes the room in a muted golden glow, softening the sharp edges of furniture and casting long shadows against the walls. Yet, despite the warmth of the lighting, there is a weight in the air—thick, unmoving.

The door opens.

Fahlada steps inside, her presence quiet but palpable. The stillness is broken by the almost imperceptible sound of her inhale, the way her boots pause just past the threshold. Their eyes meet—Earn's gaze soft but unwavering, dark with questions she has yet to voice. There's no accusation in them, not yet, but there's something else. A quiet demand. A search for an answer she already suspects.

Fahlada's breath hitches, her fingers twitching at her sides before curling slightly into fists. A tell she's never been able to suppress. The air between them seems to shrink, pressing against her ribs. She should speak first—offer something, anything to fill the silence—but the words lodge in her throat, heavy with uncertainty.

She knows it's coming.

The questions. The confrontation.

And she isn't sure if she's ready to answer.

As soon as Fah-lada closed the door behind her, they both spoke at the same time.

"Fahlada—"

"I'll just freshen up first."

Fahlada's voice came out a fraction too fast, the words tumbling over each other in her haste to escape the moment. She could feel Earn's eyes on her, pinning her in place, sharp with unspoken demands. Her pulse kicked up as she reached for the bathroom doorknob, fingers tightening around the cool metal.

She wasn't lying—technically. The lingering scent of the day clung to her skin, the weight of fatigue settling in her bones. A shower wouldn't hurt. But that wasn't the real reason she needed to get away.

She needed air. A moment to breathe.

Earn, still combing her damp hair, narrowed her eyes. A flicker of frustration crossed her face, subtle but unmistakable. It wasn't just impatience—it was something deeper. The kind of exasperation that came when someone knew they were being kept at arm's length but couldn't force their way through.

Fahlada had seen that look before.

A huff of breath escaped Earn's lips, the sound laced with something between irritation and reluctant understanding. She threw the comb onto the bed with more force than necessary, crossing her arms over her chest. Her posture screamed defiance, but there was a quiet restraint in her stance, like a hunter letting its prey run—for now.

"Fine," she muttered, tilting her head slightly. "But don't take too long. You're not escaping this."

Fahlada nodded quickly, too quickly, before slipping into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. The moment she was alone, she let out a slow, shaky exhale. Her grip on the doorknob remained firm, and her knuckles briefly whitened before she forced herself to loosen them.

She pressed her forehead against the cool surface of the door, closing her eyes.

This wasn't just about freshening up.

This was about gathering herself before she walked back out into that room. Before she faced Earn, who had never been one to let things go easily.

Before she faced the questions she wasn't sure she had the right answers to.