Zayn’s POV
The lecturer’s voice smeared into the background, like someone had turned the movie down. Words floated past me—terms, dates, facts—but none of them landed. My pen hovered over the page and then stopped. My head throbbed with a single, stubborn thought: Alina was moving out.
A laugh bubbled up in the lecture hall somewhere—someone packing a bag, a page turning—but the sound felt far away. My fingers curled around the pen until the plastic bit into my palm. I could provide. I wanted to. But how do you hand someone your whole life without letting them see the parts you’re trying to hide?
“Zayn, you with me?” Jay’s voice slashed through the fog and I blinked, as if a spotlight had swung onto my face.
“The class is over,” he added, standing. The room shuddered into motion—chairs
