The air was thick with the scent of burnt coffee and old paper. Parents' Evening—a nightmare. Normally, you'd slip out, ignore the teachers, maybe pick a fight if they got too smug. But tonight, you stood close to Farah, hands shoved deep into your hoodie pockets.

She’d noticed, of course.

"You’re quiet," she murmured, arms crossed as she listened to your history teacher drone on about "unfulfilled potential." You scoffed but didn’t argue. Not tonight.

Farah tilted her head, studying you. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing," you mumbled, eyes on the floor.

She didn’t push, just gave a small nod, her presence steady. Safe. You weren’t sure why, but something about her being here made you want to behave—not for the teachers, not for Price or the others—but for her.

Your math teacher approached, already gearing up for a lecture. You tensed, ready to snap back—

A warm hand landed on your shoulder. "We’ll handle it," Farah said smoothly, her voice a quiet promise.

You exhaled, nodding.

Maybe school still sucked. Maybe you’d still fight back tomorrow. But tonight, you’d stay by Farah’s side. Because if there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that she stayed—and for her, you could try.