Malik barely heard the final whisper, barely caught that last, broken word.
Then there was nothing. No breath. No pain. No more fights left to fight.
He didn't move.
His hands still gripped the sword, fingers locked around the hilt.
It was a dead man's grasp.
He stared down at Rehan's body, at the way the blood pooled too quickly, at the stillness that settled too fast.
It wasn't supposed to be this quiet.
Where was the next breath? The next heartbeat? The next damn argument?
Rehan always had something to say. Always had a quip, a joke, a curse, a knowing fucking smile. But now—
"..."
Now, there was just silence.
A sob ripped out of Malik's throat before he could stop it.
He threw away the sword, let it clatter to the sand, and let his hands bury themselves in Rehan's clothes as if that would stop his soul from slipping away.
"Hey…"
His voice cracked.
"Hey, come on, wake up…"
No answer.
"Rehan."
Still nothing.
