Chapter 4
1177 Words
Neutral POV
The hallway echoed with nothing but the sharp click of Amara’s sandals. Her breaths came short. Controlled. But her chest was chaos. She had told herself she wouldn’t confront him—that maybe she could pretend nothing happened in that library. That if she didn’t speak it out loud, it would all go away.
But seeing that glyph again… feeling that wave of something too familiar—it shattered every wall she’d built.
Zayne was at his locker when she found him, hoodie half-off, sketchbook peeking from his bag like it was breathing. “Zayne,” she called.
He turned. Slowly. Warily.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then her voice cracked. “What the hell is going on?”
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
She stepped closer. “Don’t act like you don’t know. That sketchbook. The glyphs. The flashes in my head. You were in them.”
“I—”
“You knew! You did something. You looked at me like we’ve… like I’ve cried in your arms, and I don’t even remember.”
Zayne opened his mouth but said nothing. His silence spoke louder than any confession.
Tears welled up in her eyes. “I don’t know what’s real anymore. I’m scared of my own memories. And every time I see you, something inside me aches, and I don’t know why.”
Zayne’s voice came low. “I was protecting you.”
She stared at him. “Protecting me? From what?”
“I can’t tell you yet.”
Amara’s eyes flared, and she shoved him—not hard, but it hit. “I don’t need protection, Zayne. I need truth. Who were we? What did you erase?”
He looked down. “I’m sorry, Amara. But if I tell you… I might lose you again.”
Before she could reply, a sharp voice interrupted. “Yo! What’s going on here?!”
It was Jide. Her boyfriend. Gold chain, confident strut, school jacket off one shoulder. He stared at Amara’s teary face and Zayne standing close.
“Jide—no, it’s not what—”
Jide didn’t wait. “You crying and this fool standing here? Say less.”
Zayne didn’t move in time. Jide’s shove slammed him into the lockers.
“Back off!” Riri’s voice rang out, sprinting toward them. “He didn’t do anything!”
Too late. Jide punched Zayne in the stomach. Zayne doubled over. Amara screamed.
“Stop it!”
But another figure stepped in—Kingsley, Zayne’s long-time bully. “Oh look. Emo-boy’s finally getting what he deserves.”
Zayne tried to rise, but Jide grabbed his hoodie and swung again. His jaw snapped sideways. Blood trickled. Riri lunged, grabbing Jide’s arm. “Stop! He’s not fighting back!”
Kingsley shoved her off. “Relax, Riri. Let the man defend himself.”
Another guy pinned Zayne down while Jide kicked him again. Then again. Zayne gasped, sketchbook still clutched in one arm like a lifeline.
“Why isn’t she saying anything?!” Riri cried, glaring at Amara.
Amara froze. Tears streamed down her cheeks. But no words came.
Zayne looked up through one b****y eye. At her. Still silent.
“HEY! WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?!”
It was Mr. Hassan—the hostel warden—with security and two staff.
Jide and the others instantly backed off, muttering nonsense. Riri dropped beside Zayne, shielding him with her arms.
Zayne lay still. Bleeding. Bruised. Holding the sketchbook close to his chest.
Amara turned away.
She couldn’t face him.
Even though her heart screamed with guilt.
Zayne stirred under the white sheets, eyelids heavy. The fluorescent light overhead hummed softly. His body ached. His face felt like fire. His ribs screamed every time he breathed.
Then he saw her.
Riri, sitting in a plastic chair beside him, legs crossed, head resting against the wall.
She noticed his eyes opening and leaned forward.
“You’re awake,” she whispered with a small smile. “Finally.”
Zayne tried to sit up but winced. Riri gently pressed him back.
“Don’t. You look like you got hit by a bus… or five.”
Zayne coughed. “Close. It was just Jide and his friends.”
She let out a laugh, though her eyes were soft. “And here I thought the sketchbook was your biggest problem.”
He chuckled, then grimaced.
Riri paused. “You okay?”
He nodded slowly. “Physically? Not really. But… yeah.”
Silence.
Then Zayne turned his face to her.
“Why’d you help me, Riri? We’re not even friends.”
Riri leaned back in her chair, arms behind her head. “True. But we sit in the same library aisle. I figured that counts for something.”
He smirked. Just a little.
She continued, “Plus, you’re mysterious. Brooding. Hooded. Like Batman without the budget.”
Zayne laughed once—quiet and broken. “I don’t deserve your help.”
“That’s not your call to make,” she said softly.
He swallowed. “They beat me like I was nothing. And the worst part is…” His voice cracked. “She just stood there. She didn’t even try.”
Riri’s smile faded. She looked at him for a moment, then said, “She was scared. Doesn’t make it right. But I’ve seen people freeze in worse moments.”
He nodded, eyes drifting to the window.
“I thought maybe… I thought she’d remember something. Just something. A piece of who we were.”
Riri didn’t interrupt.
Zayne added, “I erased her memory, Riri. To protect her. And now… she doesn’t remember the boy who would’ve died for her.”
There was a long pause.
Riri shifted in her chair and gave him a side-glance. “You know, if this was a K-drama, this is the part where the girl barges in and says something overly dramatic like, ‘I never stopped loving you!’”
He let out a dry laugh.
“But lucky for you,” she added, “this isn’t fiction. This is high school. It sucks worse.”
Zayne smiled, then whispered, “Thanks… for being here.”
She nudged his hand. “Don’t mention it.”
Just then, the door creaked open.
Both turned to look.
Amara.
She stood in the doorway, hair damp from tears, holding a small paper bag.
The moment her eyes landed on them—Riri beside Zayne’s bed, both of them laughing quietly—her expression shattered.
Riri’s smile faded.
Zayne blinked in confusion.
Amara’s lips trembled. She took a step forward… then froze. Her hand clenched the paper bag tighter.
“I… I came to…”
Zayne sat up slightly. “Amara?”
She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have come.”
Then she turned and bolted from the doorway, her quiet sob choking the silence behind her.
The bag dropped to
the floor.
Zayne stared at the door, heart suddenly heavier.
Riri didn’t speak.
Neither did he.
The moment had passed.
And something between them had just cracked.
- Writer
