Zayan woke up with a strange weight in his chest.
Not pain. Not fear.
Something quieter.
He lay still on the bed at Professor Farooq's house, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft hum of the fan above him. The room was peaceful—too peaceful. No nightmares. No pounding head. No flashes dragging him back.
And yet—
He felt unsettled.
As if someone had called his name without sound.
He sat up slowly, pressing a hand to his chest, brows knitting together.
"What is this…?" he murmured.
The feeling didn't fade.
It followed him as he showered, as he dressed, as he ate breakfast in silence. Even Hadi noticed something was off.
"You good?" Hadi asked, glancing at him over his cup.
Zayan nodded automatically.
But his eyes kept drifting. Toward the window. Toward the road. Toward nowhere.
It was ridiculous, he told himself. He'd been under stress. His mind was playing tricks on him.
Still—
Every few seconds, his chest tightened, like an invisible thread being pulled from somewhere far away.
At university, the feeling intensified.
Laughter echoed around him, conversations overlapped, footsteps rushed past—but Zayan felt disconnected, like he was walking slightly out of time with the world.
During lecture, he couldn't focus.
Words blurred on the board. Voices sounded distant.
Instead, memories surfaced uninvited.
Lia's voice—soft but stubborn.
Aryan's laugh—the kind that filled space without trying.
Nani Rahnima's hands—warm, steady, grounding.
He closed his eyes briefly.
Why now? he thought.
He had buried these names carefully. Locked them away so they wouldn't hurt him anymore.
Yet today, they refused to stay buried.
When class ended, Zayan stepped outside alone.
The sky was pale, stretched thin like it might tear. A breeze brushed past him, carrying the scent of dust and something else—something familiar.
His heart skipped.
For a split second, he turned sharply, convinced—absolutely convinced—that if he looked fast enough, he'd see someone he knew.
Someone searching.
There was no one.
Just strangers.
Zayan laughed under his breath, hollow and confused.
"Get it together," he whispered to himself.
But the feeling didn't leave.
It followed him to the cafeteria, where he barely touched his food. It followed him back to the house, where the walls suddenly felt too quiet.
That night, he stood on the balcony.
The city lights flickered below like broken stars. Somewhere out there, lives were colliding, breaking, repairing themselves.
And somewhere out there—
Someone was thinking about him.
Not with anger. Not with blame.
With fear.
With longing.
Zayan's throat tightened unexpectedly.
He pressed his hands against the cold railing.
"I'm fine," he said aloud, as if speaking to someone who couldn't hear him. "I'm alive. I'm trying."
The words felt heavier than they should have.
A sudden ache spread through his chest, sharp and unfamiliar.
Not pain.
Loss.
The kind you feel when you don't know you're being missed—but your soul does.
He inhaled shakily.
"Why now…?" he whispered again.
Far away, Lia was packing her bag.
Far away, Aryan was tracing routes on a map.
And Zayan—
Zayan stood still, caught between past and present, unaware that the distance between them wasn't as wide as he believed.
Because some bonds don't break when people disappear.
They stretch.
They ache.
They pull.
And sooner or later—
They lead people back to each other.