{Capital City Of The Inside, The Holy Land}
Huda sat in the middle of her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, head buried between them.
Her room was dark, save for the glow spilling in from the massive projection outside the window to her left.
It lit up the skyline like a thirteenth moon, showing Malik standing by a fire, looking... well, wrecked.
His thoughts drifted through the open air, soft but cutting, a whisper she couldn't escape.
She peeked up at it, her chest twisting as she caught his expression—the hollow look in his eyes, the way his hand reached out for someone who wasn't there.
"Sinbad... I'm sorry."
The name hit her hard, hanging heavy in her mind, just like it had in his, only ten times less.
Slowly, Huda squeezed her eyes shut, the sting behind them threatening to spill over.
"He thinks that's what Sinbad would've wanted..."
Not with sadness, but anger.
Anger she couldn't aim at anyone, not even herself, because it just... was.
"That cutting himself off, shutting everyone out, and drowning in guilt is some kind of tribute."
Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms hard enough to sting.
The words were bitter, biting, but they felt... meaningless.
Just like everything else.
Because deep down, she couldn't stop thinking it.
'He's doing the same thing I'm doing.'
The parallel wasn't lost on her.
She could see it as plain as day.
Malik, who she thought had healed even a little since that accursed day, hadn't changed at all.
...No, that wasn't it.
If anything, he'd gotten worse.
The cracks he used to hide so well were now laid bare for anyone to see, and such a scene was even harder to stomach.
Though the reasons were as far as life was from death, both were...
Both isolated themselves.
Both let guilt eat them alive.
Both pretended that shutting out the world would somehow make things better.
That it was the answer to their guilt.
It didn't make anything better.
She knew it because she was living it—right here, in this room, in this suffocating darkness.
And the Malik from back then probably knew it, too.
But both still did it anyway.
The reason was simple.
They just didn't know any other way to cope.
Her head snapped up, her glare locking onto the projection outside.
"You think Sinbad would've wanted this?"
She couldn't tell if those words were meant for him or herself.
"You think he'd want you to sit there, wallowing in guilt, instead of actually living?"
Her chest tightened even more, her breath coming out shaky.
She hated that she could see it so clearly now—hated how it made everything more complicated.
The betrayal she'd clung to.
The hurt that felt like it could swallow her whole—it all felt muted now.
It was hard for her to loathe him, so very hard.
God, she wanted to so badly.
But she just... couldn't.
Malik's unreasonable guilt, his isolation, his belief that this was somehow right—she hated it not only because it was a mirror of her own but also because it gave her a reason.
A reason not to loathe him.
One she so adamantly wanted to reject, but like her 'righteous' anger, she couldn't.
Her emotions were no longer hers to control.
It made her chest ache in a way that felt unfair.
Like he'd taken something from her without even realizing it.
And so, it was only natural that it drained out of her, leaving something aching behind.
"Sinbad would've wanted you to be happy, you idiot."
The words spilled out even though they felt futile.
"He wouldn't have wanted this."
She choked on the lump in her throat, burying her face back into her knees once more.
"He wouldn't have wanted any of this."
The truth of it was so obvious it hurt.
"I know that... I know it."
But again, knowing didn't make it easier.
It didn't stop the guilt, or the pain, or the endless spiral of what-ifs.
Outside, the projection kept playing, displaying Malik's descent into madness.
"Big brother... forgive me... forgive me for k-killing you."
Huda squeezed her eyes shut tighter as if that could block out the sound.
The truth of what they both couldn't let go.
{Holy Palace, Sultan's Hall}
Safira stared at the projection as if just woken up from a dreamless sleep.
She blinked a few times, barely breathing, watching him from under her lashes.
It all started clicking into place right in front of her.
The careful, gruff, but easygoing teacher.
The sarcastic but protective older brother figure.
This Malik was... gone.
He went somewhere else, far away, hidden deep, never to return.
After this point, he'd no longer stare at her like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
He'd stop pressing her about the weird things she said or did.
She'd brushed it off at the time, but now—watching him —it made sense.
Malik had stopped caring about them, or rather, he forced himself to stop.
He was protecting himself.
Safira swallowed hard, guilt playing with her insides.
'I thought it was because of me.'
She thought maybe her slip-ups had shaken him.
Maybe her being... different was too much for him to handle.
But no, it wasn't her.
It was something else entirely.
Sinbad. The ghost who haunted him.
Huda. The "Coward," who had run.
That was why Malik had changed.
Safira's hands curled into fists under the eyes of many.
A part of her—an ugly, selfish part—felt something she hated herself for feeling.
Hated that she was glad.
Hated the way her chest felt lighter.
Hated that some ugly part of her thanked God that it wasn't her.
But at the same time, she couldn't help it.
Malik's change wasn't her fault.
And that brought her relief like nothing else.