The streets felt strangely quiet as Iram walked home, her footsteps slow but restless. The early morning air was cold enough to wake her completely, yet her mind still replayed everything that had happened the night before.
Every word. Every look. Every moment inside Alex's house.
I should go home, she told herself again, tightening her grip on her bag.
By the time she reached her house, the familiar gate stood half-open, sunlight spilling into the small front yard. The smell of fried eggs and tea drifted outside — normal, comforting, ordinary. So ordinary that it almost made last night feel unreal.
She pushed the door open.
Inside, her family sat around the breakfast table.
Her father was reading the newspaper, glasses low on his nose. Since her mother passed away last year, he had aged faster — faint lines around his eyes, a permanent seriousness in his voice.
Her elder brother sat beside him, scrolling through his phone while eating, and her younger sister quietly focused on her plate, swinging her feet under the chair.
The moment Iram stepped in, her father lowered the newspaper.
"Iram."
Her heart skipped.
"Where were you last night?" he asked, his voice calm but sharp. "And why didn't you come home?"
The room suddenly felt smaller.
She forced herself to breathe normally. "I… uh… my friend wasn't feeling well," she said quickly, placing her bag down. "She got really sick, and I stayed with her."
Her father frowned slightly. "You couldn't call?"
"My phone died," she replied instantly, the lie forming faster than she expected.
Her brother looked up then, raising one eyebrow. His gaze lingered on her for a second too long — like he knew something didn't add up — but he said nothing and returned to his breakfast.
Her sister didn't even look up, quietly eating her toast.
A long silence followed.
Finally, her father sighed. "Next time, inform me somehow. I was worried."
Relief washed over her so suddenly she almost felt weak. "Yes, Baba. I will."
He nodded, convinced enough, and picked up his newspaper again.
Iram didn't wait another second. She turned and walked quickly down the hallway toward her room. The moment she stepped inside, she shut the door and locked it.
Click.
She leaned back against it, closing her eyes.
"Fuck… that was close," she whispered, running a hand through her hair. Her heart was still racing. "I cannot tell them I was at their enemy Alex's home."
The thought alone made her stomach twist.
She dropped her bag onto the bed and headed straight to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, she let warm water fill the small space with steam. Soon, the mirror fogged, blurring her reflection until she could barely see herself.
As the warm water ran over her shoulders, tension slowly melted away. The heat eased the stiffness in her muscles, washing off the exhaustion of the sleepless night. She stood there longer than she meant to, letting the sound of water drown her thoughts.
But memories refused to stay quiet.
Alex's voice. His expression. The strange way she had felt safe — and confused — at the same time.
She closed her eyes tightly, letting the water run over her face.
"What am I even doing…" she murmured to herself.
Outside, life continued normally — dishes clinking, her sister laughing faintly, her father's voice echoing through the house. Inside the shower, though, everything felt uncertain.
When she finally stepped out, wrapping a towel around her shoulders, she realized one thing clearly:
Last night wasn't over.