Chapter Twelve: Run or Stay
767 Words
Zara didn’t sleep.
She sat upright on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, her phone still clutched in her hand, eyes staring at nothing.
“He killed her. You’ll be next.”
The voice still echoed in her head, low and warped. But something about it scratched at her memory. A familiarity she couldn’t place.
She looked over at Zayyan, who had fallen asleep in the armchair near the window, still in his shirt and slacks, his jaw tight even in rest.
What was he hiding?
What else had he buried?
Her mind churned with questions. But one thought returned louder than the rest:
I have to protect myself.
The next morning was silent.
Zayyan left early.
No tea on the nightstand. No note. No quiet gestures.
It felt colder than before.
She wandered through the house restlessly, avoiding the west wing, avoiding the library, avoiding Farah’s gaze.
At lunchtime, she sat in the garden, trying to pretend the world was still simple.
It wasn’t.
Farah brought her tea, but Zara barely touched it.
“Is something wrong, dear?” Farah asked gently.
Zara looked up. “Do you know anything about the locked room?”
Farah’s eyes flickered. Just for a moment. But it was enough.
“I clean what I’m told,” she said softly. “I don’t ask questions.”
Zara nodded. But inside, her thoughts spiraled.
Even the help knew to stay silent.
That evening, Zayyan returned home late.
Zara was already seated at the dining table. Waiting.
He sat across from her, quiet, guarded.
“I got a call,” she said flatly.
His eyes darkened. “What did they say?”
“That you killed someone. And that I’ll be next.”
The silence that followed was terrifying.
Zayyan leaned back, folding his arms.
“I don’t know who’s doing this, but they’re playing with your fear.”
“Then give me a reason not to believe them.”
Zayyan stared at her. “You think I’d hurt you?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore,” she said, her voice breaking.
He exhaled sharply and stood up. “I never wanted this life for you, Zara.”
“Then why did you drag me into it?”
“Because I was trying to protect you!” he snapped.
Zara stood too. “From what?”
“From myself.”
That shut her up.
Later that night, she called the hospital.
Her mother was stable. Resting.
Zara almost cried from relief.
She opened her suitcase. Slowly. Quietly.
She began packing.
Just the essentials: a few clothes, her ID, her mother’s medical papers, and her old diary.
She didn’t know where she would go, but staying wasn’t an option.
Not until she could sort out the truth.
At 3 a.m., Zara tiptoed downstairs.
She reached the front door and froze.
Zayyan was there.
Fully dressed. Waiting.
“You were going to leave.”
Zara tightened her grip on the suitcase handle.
“Yes.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t raise his voice.
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“To where?”
“I don’t know. Anywhere but here.”
Zayyan looked at her for a long time. His voice was quiet when he spoke.
“You think I’m a monster.”
“I think I’m scared,” she said.
He nodded once.
“I won’t stop you. But at least let me drop you wherever you want to go.”
Zara blinked. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to disappear,” he said. “I need to know you’re safe.”
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
They drove in silence.
The city lights blurred past the window. Zara clutched her bag to her chest, heart pounding.
“Do you believe me?” he asked finally, eyes fixed on the road.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But I don’t believe you’d kill someone without a reason.”
Zayyan gave a small, bitter smile.
“That’s what scares me most.”
They stopped outside a small guesthouse near the edge of the city.
Safe. Private. No cameras.
Zayyan got out and opened her door.
She stepped out, the suitcase dragging behind her.
He didn’t follow.
“Will I see you again?” he asked.
“That depends,” she whispered.
“On what?”
“On what I find out.”
He nodded once.
Then stepped back into the car and drove away.
And for the first time in weeks, Zara was alone.
Truly, completely alone.
She didn’t know if she felt free.
Or just… lost.
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