I watched him from the window again.
Malik walked down the street, backpack slung low, shoulders hunched like he was carrying more than just books. He didn't notice me. He didn't smile. He didn't wave.
The distance between us had grown since the birthday. A gulf wide enough to drown in.
And yet, I couldn't look away.
Every sound, every flicker of movement made my pulse spike. A stray car door slammed — an accident waiting to happen. A dog barked — a warning. Even the wind tapping against the window felt like a countdown.
"She will break him."
The sentence echoed in my mind. Lina had felt it too. And now I felt it again, closer than ever. It wasn't just a warning anymore. It was a certainty.
I grabbed my notebook. I scribbled every step Malik took from the street into my pages. Every glance. Every pause. Every shadow.
I wasn't watching him to spy. I was watching to prevent disaster.
But disaster… it had already started.
That evening, Malik didn't come near the living room. He stayed on the far side of the couch, arms crossed. His eyes avoided mine.
"You're… watching me again," he said quietly, almost trembling.
I shook my head. "I'm not."
He stared. "Yes, you are. I can feel it."
"I don't want to see her anymore."
The sentence hit me like a hammer. Not from my mind. Not from him. But inside, I felt it in my chest.
I took a step back. Tried to give him space. Tried to pretend that nothing had happened.
But the wave inside me was growing. The obsession. The panic. The sentences.
Every breath, every heartbeat, every minor movement threatened to push the future over the edge.
Later that night, I heard footsteps downstairs. Malik pacing. I could feel his anger, his fear, his hurt — all directed at me, though he didn't know why.
I whispered the sentences to myself:
"It wasn't supposed to happen like this."
"She will break him."
My hands shook. My stomach twisted.
I thought about the birthday. About the accident. About how my attempt to protect him had caused him pain.
And I realized something horrifying.
The only way to keep him safe… might be to push him away completely.
The thought consumed me.
Push him away to protect him.
Stay close to save him.
Every choice felt wrong.
I sank to the floor, clutching my notebook. The pages were a mess, scribbled over, torn at the edges. My handwriting jagged and desperate.
Outside, the night stretched endlessly. Every shadow, every whisper, every small sound felt like the future speaking.
And I understood the truth:
I wasn't just part of the wave anymore.
I was the storm.
By the time I finally went to bed, my chest ached, my hands were numb, and the sentences swirled endlessly:
"It wasn't supposed to happen like this."
"I shouldn't have left."
"She's the reason."
"She will break him."
The future was closing in.
And there was nothing I could do to stop it.