The bathroom light flicked on, harsh against the quiet of the house. Karim was there, leaning close to the mirror, eyes intense, jaw tight. He muttered something under his breath, then louder, louder, until the words echoed off the tiles like a tiny speech meant for no one but himself.

He paused, ran a hand through his hair, and sighed. “No, no… that’s not it.” He whispered, shaking his head. Then he laughed, a little bitter, a little tired, as if mocking himself.

Karim’s voice cracked when he leaned closer, almost pressing his forehead to the glass. “I… I just don’t want to mess it up.” He admitted to his reflection, as though the mirror could understand what no one else could.

He frowned, stepping back, turning in slow circles, muttering half-formed sentences, practicing, repeating, reshaping them in the dim light. The silence outside the bathroom door seemed to stretch forever, but he didn’t notice.

Finally, he stopped, staring at his own eyes like he was trying to memorize something important. Then he sighed, soft this time, and leaned back against the sink, exhaustion in every movement. The words hung in the air, fragile, unspoken, just for him.