Noor's phone vibrated against her palm. She picked it up without looking.
"You should be resting."
A deep, theatrical sigh crackled through the speaker.
"Noor, I think I'm dying."
Her lips twitched. "You're not dying."
"I am," Sanlang insisted. "No one cares. I've been abandoned. Left to suffer in silence, curled up in my bed, alone, cold, starving—"
"Sanlang."
"Yes, dearest?"
"I sent Yilan over. She said you were drinking imported tea and arguing with the TV."
Sanlang gasped. "Lies! Slander! When did Yilan become a spy?"
"You paid her to bring you food."
"…That's irrelevant."
Noor shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips.
Sanlang took advantage of her silence. "Come see me. I need a nurse. A beautiful one. Kind, warm, with the voice of an angel—"
"You have a doctor."
"Doctors are cold. Unfeeling. You, Noor, are—" he sighed dreamily, "gentle."
"I'm hanging up."
"No, wait, wait! Noor." His voice dipped into something softer. "I miss you."
The teasing edge faded just enough to make her pause.
Then, before she could respond—
"My appetite hasn't been the same since you left," he continued dramatically. "My food lacks flavor. My heart lacks joy. Even my tea—"
"Yilan sent over a picture of you, sipping that tea happily five minutes ago," she interrupted.
"…That was before the loneliness hit."
Noor rubbed her forehead. "Sanlang."
"Yes, darling?"
"Eat your medicine."
Sanlang made a deeply suffering noise. "Medicine is bitter. I need something sweeter." A pause. Then, softer: "You."
Noor exhaled, shaking her head, but warmth flickered in her chest. This man. Always so—
She glanced at her screen.
And her breath stilled.
The call timer was gone.
The numbers. The signal bars. Even his name.
Blank.
And yet—
"Noor."
Sanlang's voice.
Something deeper. Hungrier. Twisting around the syllables like creeping vines.
"You left."
Noor closed her eyes. And then, instead of reacting, instead of fear—
She spoke. As if she had been expecting this.
"Do you know what happens to a shadow when it outgrows the body it follows?"
Silence.
"People fear ghosts," she continued, her voice almost distant, lost in thought. "But shadows—they are patient. They stretch. They wait. And one day, you wake up, and they no longer belong to you."
The line crackled.
"You forgot me," the voice rasped.
Noor exhaled.
"Nothing is ever truly forgotten," she murmured. "Some things just step aside until they are needed again."
The air in the jet shifted.
The moment she ended the call—
The turbulence hit.
Lightning split the sky. The plane lurched.
Zeyla grabbed onto the nearest seat. "What the hell—?"
Maya's voice was sharp. "Madam Noor, what is happening?"
Noor gazed at the storm outside, at the way the dark clouds churned, watching.
She inhaled.
"I'm coming back."
The call cut.
The screen shuddered.
Outside, the storm raged.
And Noor—Noor only closed her eyes.
"It has begun."
The private jet sailed through the sky, its cabin wrapped in quiet luxury. Noor sat still, phone resting loosely in her palm, her expression unreadable. The call had ended, but she hadn't moved since.
Zeyla watched her for exactly three seconds before turning to Maya. "Do we address the elephant in the room, or do we let it stomp around until it breaks something?"
Maya smirked. "I say we poke it." She leaned in slightly. "So… you're going to see him."
Noor remained silent, her gaze distant.
Zeyla raised an eyebrow. "That was not a question, by the way."
Maya propped her chin on her palm. "Should we prepare a speech for the grand reunion? Something like—'Oh, Sanlang, my dearest, how I have longed for this moment—'"
Noor finally stirred. "Be careful with your words, Maya. Names carry weight. And longing is not something to be dressed in cheap theatrics."
The humor flickered, just for a second. Zeyla caught it first, the way Maya hesitated before regaining her grin.
"Ah," Zeyla said lightly, "so it is longing, then."
Noor let out a slow exhale, her fingers tracing the armrest. "You mistake recognition for desire. A river does not long for the sea—it simply knows its path will always lead there."
Maya scoffed. "That sounds an awful lot like longing, Madam Noor."
Noor tilted her head, and for a fleeting moment, there was something unfathomable in her eyes—like she was looking at something far beyond them, past the walls of the jet, past the years.
"When a wound is old enough," she murmured, "it no longer bleeds—it only remembers."
Silence.
Maya blinked, then turned to Zeyla. "Okay, so, what I'm hearing is that she is excited to see him, but in a poetic, tragic, borderline divine way?"
Zeyla nodded sagely. "Sounds about right."
Noor didn't respond. She simply leaned back, her eyelids heavy, exhaustion sinking into her bones like a ghost pressing into her skin.
Maya, watching her, sighed. "She's already picturing him."
Zeyla smirked. "She's already dreaming about him."
Noor let her breath slow. Let the quiet of the cabin press against her.
And as sleep took her—
The shadows moved.
A whisper, curling like smoke at the edges of her mind.
"You left."
Maya tapped her nails against the armrest. "Madam Noor once told me people don't actually fear death."
Zeyla barely looked at her. "Oh?"
"They fear living," Maya said. "The weight of waking up, carrying the same pain, dragging it through another day. Death is easy. Living is the real nightmare."
Zeyla scoffed. "She told me the opposite."
Maya raised an eyebrow.
Zeyla flexed her fingers, as if trying to shake something off. "She said suffering proves you're alive. Pain means you're real. The moment you stop feeling, you're as good as dead."
Maya was quiet for a second. Then she chuckled, shaking her head. "She's been telling us the same damn thing, just from different angles."
Zeyla swallowed. Her gaze drifted to Noor, still as stone, as if she wasn't asleep—just… waiting.
"She talks like someone who's already died," she muttered.
Maya leaned back, closing her eyes. "Worse. Like someone who came back."
The plane tilted slightly as it descended. Maya stretched. "We should wake her up."
Zeyla hesitated. "Maybe let her wake up on her own."
Maya smirked. "What, scared?"
Zeyla rolled her eyes and reached out—
Then Noor moved.
Her head turned—too precise. Her gaze landed on Zeyla—too sharp.
And in that split second, Zeyla's breath caught. If Noor had truly moved—if she hadn't held herself back—Zeyla wouldn't just be scared. She would be dead.
Noor had held herself back.
If she hadn't—if she had moved just a fraction faster—Zeyla's head wouldn't be on her shoulders.
The air between them turned ice cold.
Noor adjusted her sleeve like nothing had happened. "We've landed?"
Maya swallowed hard. "Yes, Madam Noor."
Noor stood up, her movements unnervingly smooth. She walked past them—then paused.
She glanced at Zeyla, studying her like a puzzle missing a piece. Then, softly:
"Life is the only thing worth fearing."
And then she was gone.
Maya whispers, "Then why does she move like death?"
Zeyla mutters, "Then why do I feel like I just met it?"
The door shut behind her. The pressure of her presence lingered like a shadow.
Maya exhaled sharply. "I think I just lost ten years of my life."