shahin albora (shahnare)

The hallway in the old house rang with tension—every step echoed, as if the house itself were eavesdropping. Shahin walked quickly, barely glancing around, but he knew she was following. He could feel it in the way the air grew heavier.
Nare caught up with him at the turn and grabbed him sharply by the sleeve, forcing him to stop.
"You just turned around and walked away!" Her voice trembled, but rage was already seething within it. "As if my word meant nothing. As if I'm just a shadow that can be left behind!"
Shahin pressed his lips together, not looking up. He knew that if he looked at her now, he wouldn't be able to bear it.
"This isn't about you, Nare. This is about leaving you alone."
"Don't hide your cowardice behind nobility!" She let go of his sleeve, but stepped closer, as if trying to break through that icy reserve. "You choose them every time. Family, duty, rules... But will you ever choose me? Even once?"
He finally looked up, and there was so much pain in his eyes that Nare hesitated for a moment.
"If I choose you, they'll find a way to make you regret it. Every step I take against them is a blow to you. You don't understand how it works."
"I only understand one thing: you're afraid. Afraid of losing respect, afraid of becoming 'not the same' in their eyes. And as for the fact that I'm losing you every day—it's as if you don't care."
Shahin abruptly ran his hand over his face, as if he wanted to erase it all—the words, the city, this house.
"I care!" Her voice broke from its usual restraint, sounding hoarse, almost desperate. "But I can't break this world with my bare hands. I'm looking for a way that won't leave you broken!"
"And what if your path leaves you a stranger?" Nare asked quietly, no longer shouting, and tears glistened in her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. "If you spend so long searching for a safe route, one day I'll simply stop standing on the side of the road and go where I'm chosen immediately, without reservation."
He stepped toward her, as if he wanted to grab her, hold her, say something that would fix everything. But he froze half a meter away—because he knew that any touch now would be a lie.
“Don’t go,” he said, almost in a whisper. “Give me a little more time.”
“Time does not heal when it is spent in silence,” she replied, turning and walking away, leaving behind only the scent of jasmine and the bitter feeling that they were both speaking different languages.

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