The silence in the room felt thick... not oppressive, but suspended. Like everything was holding its breath for what she'd do next.
Arwa stayed seated.
Didn't reach for the terminal. Didn't ask to hear the audio again.
She just stared at the dark screen, as if the voice might echo back out of it.
Zayaan stayed close but didn't speak. He knew when not to interrupt a memory crawling its way back to life.
Her voice, when it finally came, was soft — like she was afraid of breaking something.
"She said I wasn't theirs."
Zayaan nodded.
"That I was hers."
She looked up at him, eyes glassy but dry.
"Do you think that means... a mother?"
He hesitated. "Maybe. Or maybe someone who protected you when no one else did."
Arwa let the thought settle. The word "mother" didn't sting. But it didn't fit cleanly either. Whoever that voice belonged to — she hadn't sounded like someone who held lullabies or bedtime stories. She sounded like someone who had fought battles Arwa still didn't remember.
Someone who had once stood between her and the darkness.
And maybe failed.
Arwa ran her hand along the edge of the cot...grounding herself in the texture.
"She said I'd know what to do when it's time."
Zayaan sat beside her now, still not crowding.
"And do you?"
Arwa didn't answer right away.
She was thinking of the wall again. The phrase scrawled there like a bruise someone tried to hide — you were never meant to be a subject.
And the strange way her pulse had steadied, not spiked, when she heard that recording.
"I think I'm supposed to remember her. Not just emotionally. Strategically."
Zayaan's eyes narrowed slightly. "You think she left more than messages."
Arwa nodded slowly.
"She wasn't just reaching out. She was... handing something over."
Another silence.
But this one felt different — not tense, but electric.
Zayaan broke it with a question that had been sitting heavy in him for days.
"Why did you trust me so easily, Arwa? Even when you didn't remember me."
She looked at him, really looked — not like someone observing, but like someone returning.
"I didn't trust you easily."
Pause.
"I just felt safe before I had a reason."
It wasn't flirtation. It wasn't softness. It was something older. He felt it hit him — a tether reattaching after years of silence.
She stood up then, slowly, as if her body had decided it was done resting.
"Let's test the database again."
He blinked. "You think something's changed?"
Arwa's mouth lifted — not a smile, but something close to defiance.
"I think I have."