Some days didn’t announce their danger.
They arrived quietly — like any other morning — wrapped in routine, tea cups, and half-spoken smiles.
And yet, something felt wrong.
Not loud enough to name.
Not sharp enough to fear.
Just heavy.
Just… waiting.
Hazel POV -
Hazel sat quietly at the dining table, dressed in her blue abaya with a cream overcoat wrapped around her shoulders. Her breakfast lay untouched except for the cup of tea she slowly sipped.
Haris noticed immediately.
“You’re not eating,” he said gently.
“I will,” Hazel replied, though she didn’t move.
He finished his breakfast and stood up. “Wait. I’ll drop you.”
Hazel looked up. “You don’t have to. You’ll be late.”
Haris shook his head, picking up her plate. “Finish this. I’ll bring your favourite — Rocher Ferrero. Or I’ll eat it myself.”
She gave him a small, reluctant smile and took a few more bites just to please him.
In the car, Haris kept his hand lightly over hers, thumb brushing reassurance into her skin. When they reached the college gate, Hazel hesitated.
“I don’t want to go today,” she murmured. “Assignments… classes… everything feels heavy.”
Haris turned to her immediately. “Then don’t.”
“But—”
“Haze,” he said softly, lifting her chin. “I’ll pick you early. Just attend one class, okay?”
She nodded slowly.
Afternoon
Hazel waited outside the classroom, checking her phone again and again. Haris was still in the meeting . She decided to go to the washroom before leaving.
The door shut behind her.
Click.
She turned the handle.
Locked.
Hazel knocked. Once. Twice. Harder.
No response.
She tried calling out — nothing.
Her heart began to race. She took out her phone and dialled Haris.
No signal.
She tried opening the lock again, hands shaking now.
Her head spun. The walls felt closer. Her breathing turned uneven.
Finally, the call connected.
“Haris…” her voice broke.
“Haris, please… I’m not safe. They locked me inside.”
Haris POV -
Haris’s chest tightened the moment his phone rang.
“Haze—”
Her trembling voice cut through him like glass.
“I’m coming,” he said, already moving. “Stay there.”
He didn’t think so. He drove.
By the time he reached the college, fear had replaced every other emotion. He followed the sound of her sobs and forced the washroom door open.
Hazel stood there, pale and shaking.
He pulled her into his arms immediately.
“I’m here,” he whispered again and again, holding her tightly.
He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t shout.
He took her home.
At home, Hazel lay on the bed, drained, eyes half-closed. Haris sat beside her, guilt heavy in his chest.
“I’ll tell you everything,” she whispered weakly.
“Later,” he said softly. “First, you rest.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and called the doctor.
The female doctor examined Hazel carefully, then looked at Haris.
“Severe stress,” she said. “She collapsed before her body could warn her.”
Haris’s throat tightened.
He watched Hazel sleep, her face pale, his hand never leaving hers.
Regret settled deep inside him — quiet, heavy, and unforgiving.
Something had shifted — quietly, irreversibly.
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