A narrow dusty street stretched ahead, restless with movement.

Zainab and the Rogue Swordsman ran through it, slipping between bodies, brushing past strangers who barely had time to react. Cloth swayed, sandals scraped, voices rose and fell behind them — but neither of them slowed.

SFX: HAA… HAA…

They ran like the day was still chasing them.

Then—

They stopped.

Abrupt.

A small, modest house stood before them, quiet in a way the rest of the street was not.

Both bent forward, hands on their knees, breath uneven.

“This… this is my place.”

Zainab’s voice came out in pieces, each word pulled through the air that refused to come easily.

The Rogue wiped sweat from his face, eyes flicking once — instinctively — back down the street they had just escaped.

"Phewww!" an exhale from the Rogue

Zainab reached out and grabbed his sleeve.

“Come inside. Please.”

He pulled his arm back without looking at her.

“Ehh, no. I don’t enter people’s trouble.”

A pause.

Zainab frowned.

Then, without warning, she pulled him.

“You saved me,  I just want to say thank you, and besides, you already  entered it!”

Their balance broke at the same time.

A half-stumble.

Resistance gave way to momentum, and just like that, she dragged him inside.

The interior was dim.

Not empty — just quiet in a way that held presence instead of absence.

Duniya sat on the floor, his back resting against the wall. Still. Composed.  One of his swords lay beside him.

Nothing about him suggested waiting.

And yet—

“…Someone is here.”

His voice slipped into the room before their footsteps did.

Zainab froze for a fraction of a moment.

Then smiled, awkward but bright.

“I’m back.”

Her eyes found him properly now, taking in the stillness, the unchanged position, Duniya.

“Have you been sitting there since I left?” she questioned, surprised.

A slight nod.

“I was told not to move.”

Zainab opened her mouth—

—and stopped.

Memory catching up with her.

“Ah—”

A quick shift.

“Sorry. Sorry,” she exclaimed with a light laugh.

Duniya frowned.

Not deeply.

Just enough.

A quiet irritation, like a thread pulled tight but not yet snapped.

Zainab rubbed the back of her head, chuckling under her breath, unsure where to place her hands.

Duniya turned his face slightly.

“…My sword?”

Zainab gasped.

“Ah! Yes yes!”

She rushed, nearly tripping over nothing, catching herself at the last second before bending to pick it up. Careful now — overly careful — she guided it back toward him until his hand found it.

“Here. Honestly…  should a kid like you even be with swords?”

She stepped back, letting her eyes move between the two of them.

A pause.

Then—

“Wow. I have two helpers in my house.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and moved deeper into the house.

“I’ll make food. I'll be right back.”

The doorway curtain shifted as she disappeared behind it, the fabric settling slowly like the room itself was exhaling.

And then—

Silence.

Duniya remained exactly as he was.

The Rogue stood.

Awkwardly.

His eyes drifted.

Not to the room.

Not to the walls.

To the sword.

Wrapped.

Still.

Something about it held his attention longer than it should have.

Close enough now, he noticed the details — the gilded knob, gold catching what little light the room allowed.

Ohhh… 

He took a slow step closer.

He lifted his hand.

Waved it in front of Duniya’s face.

Nothing.

No blink.

No reaction.

No shift in breath.

Eh…

Did I mistake it?

He studied him more carefully now.

Earlier…

My chest felt tight near this one.

His gaze narrowed, something unsettled beginning to take shape behind it.

Like standing before iska mai nauyi…

Heavy air.

His eyes dropped back to the sword.

But he is blind. 

Slowly, deliberately, the Rogue stretched his hand toward the wrapped blade beside Duniya.

Closer.

Closer—

Just before his fingers touched—

Duniya’s hand snapped down.

Fast.

Gripping the sword.

“Hey—!”

The Rogue reacted instantly.

His hand closed over it too.

No distance.

No space.

Just contact.

Their hands locked.

Movement tightened — small, precise, contained. Wrists turned. Elbows shifted. Pressure answered pressure.

Duniya pulled.

The Rogue adjusted, twisting slightly, testing the structure of his grip.

Duniya followed the movement instinctively, stepping in.

Forearms collided.

Sharp.

Controlled.

  No wasted motion. Blocking, redirecting, trapping hands within a space too tight for anything large or careless.

Their faces drew close.

Too close.

“Who are you?!”

The Rogue smirked, even as his body moved.

“Easyyy, kid.”

Duniya yanked the sword back toward himself.

“Thief!!”

The Rogue scoffed, pressing the blade away with his forearm.

“I am not a thief.”

And then—

“What is going on?!”

Zainab’s voice cut through everything as she burst back into the room.

Both men froze.

Mid-motion.

The Rogue released the sword first, lifting his hands slightly.

“I only just wanted to see his sword.”

Duniya’s grip tightened.

“Mind your business.”

The Rogue looked him over, slow and unimpressed.

“Tch. I’ve seen your type before.”

Zainab stepped between them, palms out, pushing space back into the room.

“Alright! That’s enough. Allah!! tch.”

Her finger pointed at one.

Then the other.

“No fighting!”

She turned again, disappearing back toward the pot.

The curtain swayed.

Settled.

Silence returned.

But not the same kind.

Duniya sat.

The Rogue… sat too.

Closer than necessary.

A moment passed.

Then—

The Rogue reached again.

Casual.

Almost absentminded.

SMACK.

Duniya’s hand struck his away without turning.

The reaction was immediate.

“Tch!”

A quiet sting lingered longer than the sound.

Zainab returned.

Simple soup. Thin. Steam rising in quiet spirals.

She handed one calabash bowl to the Rogue.

Another to Duniya.

No one spoke.

They ate.

Zainab sat, her gaze drifting toward the doorway.

“…I wonder where Sadiq is.”

The Rogue glanced at her.

“Who is Sadiq?”

A faint smile.

Small.

“My younger brother.”

Her hand moved, pointing lightly.

“He saved him from raiders.”

The Rogue turned.

Slowly.

Toward Duniya.

Something new settled in his eyes.

Interest.

“Oh? raiders”

A pause.

“So you can fight…interesting.”

His head tilted slightly.

“Even though you are blind.”

Silence stretched just enough to become noticeable.

“What is your name?”

Duniya frowned, continuing to eat as if the question did not deserve interruption.

“I do not wish to associate with a thief.”

The Rogue’s mouth twisted.

Then he spoke again, mocking the rhythm, exaggerating every word.

“‘I do not wish to associate with a thief.’ Blah blah blah.”

Duniya’s grip tightened around the bowl.

A vein surfaced along his temple.

Nothing else moved.

Silence.

Thick.

Heavy.

Like something waiting to break.