Chapter 1 Life Between Lines

The early morning light crept through the half-drawn blinds of Alia's studio apartment. A soft haze dusted the corners of the room, caressing the pill bottles lined up on her desk like silent sentinels-each one a reminder that her body had its own quiet war to fight.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, textbooks open before her, fingers clutching a half-warm cup of hibiscus tea. Her thoughts drifted far from the pages of biochemistry-toward a persistent ache in her chest. Not physical. Emotional. A gnawing uncertainty that had grown ever since she'd overheard her father speaking about him-Jamal.

The mention of his name had cracked something in her, as though love, marriage, or even the idea of it was a cruel joke for someone like her. Someone broken. Someone fragile.

Alia Edrees was not fragile.

At least, she never allowed herself to appear that way.

Living in the off-campus apartments, nearly a 45-minute drive away from the military barracks she once called home, was her father's idea. "You need peace to thrive, not the chaos of the campus," he had said.

Aisha, her best friend and closest ally, lived just a wall away in the next apartment. It was Aisha who had searched endlessly for the perfect space, ensuring they'd be neighbors even away from home. Their bond was more than sisterly-it was a lifeline.

And still, even in this bubble of calm, Alia couldn't ignore the shadow that lingered beyond her door.

Jamal.

She never caught him in the act, but she sensed him. In the way her curtains fluttered on windless nights. In the faint scent of his cologne that clung to the corridor some mornings. In the way the streetlight would flicker briefly as if someone had leaned against it too long.

He watched over her-not intrusively, but consistently. Even through the rain, when thunder rolled through the streets and her heart trembled in fear, he was there.

But Alia had drawn her line in the sand long ago.

She would not be someone's burden.

Not even Jamal's.

And still, he came.

He never demanded. Never questioned.

He brought soup when she couldn't stand, waited silently outside her apartment when she didn't want to talk. Once, he even left a worn leather-bound book of poetry by her doorstep, wrapped in a simple string. No note. Just him.

There was a storm in Jamal that didn't roar-but it surged through his steady gaze, through the slow, deliberate way he showed up for her. It frightened her how much she noticed. How much her body and soul recognized the rhythm of his footsteps before she even saw him.

And yet, she held back.

Because love wasn't meant for girls like her.

At least, that's what she believed.

That evening, the sky turned amber as dusk crept over the city. Alia shut her textbooks and pulled her shawl tighter around her. Her phone buzzed once-Aisha checking in before heading out to a study group.

She heard it then.

Three slow knocks on the door.

Her heart stuttered.

She knew.

It was him.

She didn't move for a moment. Then, slowly, she walked to the door and opened it.

Jamal stood there in the dim hallway, soaked from the evening drizzle. His uniform jacket clung to him, a dark olive silhouette of quiet strength. His eyes met hers-deep, unwavering, unreadable.

"You should've called," she said softly, trying to keep her voice even.

He didn't smile. Didn't move.

Just stared.

"I don't come to talk, Alia," he said quietly. "I come to make sure you're breathing."

Her throat tightened.

He stepped forward, slowly, and without touching her, he asked, "May I come in?"

She nodded. Barely.

As he stepped inside, the scent of rain and leather filled her space. She turned away, busying herself with clearing books from the couch.

"Jamal," she said, her voice a little stronger, "I told you. I'm fine. You don't have to keep doing this."

"I know," he said simply. "But I will. Until the day you stop pushing me away."

She froze.

He walked past her, gently picked up one of her scattered notebooks, flipped through a few pages, then set it down again. "You're brilliant, Alia. Fierce. And scared. I see that."

His words stirred something in her.

And in that quiet room, thick with unsaid things, she finally whispered, "Why me, Jamal?"

He looked at her. Fully.

Like she was the only thing in the world.

"Because I've never wanted anything more than I want to be the man you let in," he said. "Even if it takes years. Even if all I get is the corner of your world, I'll still choose it over anything else."

Alia turned her face away, the heat behind her eyes too much to bear.

She didn't know yet that love, the kind that waited through silence and storm, was already unraveling her.

But she would.

Soon.