Her voice cracked through the air, vicious.
What remained of her beauty and color had left.
His eyes now only saw an indescribable alien, ugly as could be.
"You left me like I was nothing! A burden you were happy to get rid of!"
She cut him off so fast, so violently, that his jaw snapped shut.
Her breath came out fast as she laughed. A wild, bitter sound.
"Why? Huh? Why did you leave? Were you bored of me? Did I get in your way? Was it because of other women? Was that it?!"
...Other women? What?
'What the fuck is she on about?'
Malik sighed, trying to keep himself steady, but she wasn't done.
"Did you just wanna go off and fuck around like some manwhore?!"
She stepped even closer, now standing just a foot or so before him.
"Because I can't think of another reason. I can't! You left! You abandoned me! Like I was just—just—"
"Like I didn't mean anything!"
She was shaking. Eyes burning. Looking at him like she wanted to stab him for real this time. Maybe she would've if she had a real knife. And Malik? He just continued to stare at her.
But his gaze was much different than earlier.
It was blank. Unmoved. And there was a hint of something—something faint—crossing his expression.
This was familiar. Too familiar.
Not the words, no, not at all, but their origin.
It reminded him of Layla.
Of how she reacted. Of how she let her emotions rip herself apart—rip them apart—how she let her pain turn into something that swallowed her whole.
And he realized, right then and there—
'This's a lost cause.'
The cute but weird little student he knew was no more.
She had grown into something unrecognizable.
...All because of him.
Safira's trembling lips curled into something between a snarl and a sob.
"You won't even LOOK at me?!"
Her voice cracked, her anger boiling over into desperation.
"What, do you think you're better than me now? Is that it? You come back after all these years, and you can't even face me?!"
Sighing for the umpteenth time, Malik finally did what she so desperately asked.
His eyes slowly found hers.
And just like that, she stopped.
Her words died in her throat.
Because now… now she saw.
And what she found there struck her harder than any bitter word she could've thrown at him.
Because it wasn't hatred.
It wasn't cold indifference.
It was disappointment.
Deep. Overwhelming. Crushing.
That single look stole every ounce of fire from her lungs.
"You won't see me again."
"Y-You! Where are you going?!"
Safira called out, frantic.
"Malik! Answer me! Answer me!"
"You're just gonna leave AGAIN?! You're a coward! A fucking coward! Say it! SAY IT! SAY YOU ALWAYS HATED ME!"
Her voice was shrill now, breaking, bouncing, echoing.
It went beyond desperation, beyond pleading, but still, he didn't stop.
"You don't get to do this to me! You don't get to come back and act like you're above it all! You RUINED me, Malik! You—"
She choked like the words were strangling her.
He didn't hear the rest.
It all faded behind him as he walked away.
{Outside The Projection}
Like Malik, the crowd just… watched.
There were no murmurs of approval or disapproval. Just a heavy, pressing quiet.
Relief? Maybe. Maybe some of them were glad that Safira hadn't actually stabbed him for real. That the blade had been wood and not steel. But somehow… this felt worse.
Many of them would've preferred a blink over this.
Safira... The way she had spoken.
The way she had cut into him, deep, ripping through flesh and bone—not with her hands, but with words.
Malik didn't even attempt to fight back.
He… left. Walked away like she wasn't even worth the effort.
It all felt wrong. So damn wrong.
Like something had just died in front of them, and they had all been forced to watch.
An old man near the front exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, glancing at the others beside him.
They were all locked on Safira, waiting for her to break the silence.
And so, to kickstart that process, he took the first step.
"Lady Safira wanted him to hit her back."
No one responded, but the truth of his 'step' hung in the air.
She had indeed wanted Malik to lash out, to fight, to scream, to give her something—anything—that would make her feel justified. That would make her anger easier to hold on to. But he didn't.
And that left her standing there, alone, drowning in her own words.
"She thought she needed to let it all out..."
A woman crossed her arms, shaking her head.
"But now that she did… did she even feel better?"
Someone else scoffed, shifting their weight from one foot to the other.
"Doesn't matter. She killed him with those words. You can see it."
The scarred man clicked his tongue.
"Killed him? I don't know. I think the Sultan already made peace with it before she even opened her mouth. Her words only confirmed what he knew."
That got a few slow nods.
"Yeah. He must've known what was coming."
"He knew it, and he still sought her out anyway."
Another silence stretched over them, thicker than the last.
"I mean... seriously..."
A man in heavy robes exhaled loudly.
"What did the Lady expect?"
He asked, not really looking for an answer.
"That he'd fall on his knees? Beg? The Sultan was—"
"She wanted a reason."
The scarred woman interrupted.
"A reason that'd make her feel better about why he left."
A reason that wasn't her.
But Malik didn't give her that, either.
The others murmured in quiet agreement.
No one was wrong here.
And no one was right, either.
It was all just very, very unfortunate.
Safira seemed to embody that.
She hadn't moved this whole time.
Like earlier, she stared at the ground, shoulders locked, her face unreadable—except for the red tint that burned across her cheeks.
The feeling had never left.