The music pulsed low in the background, the kind that filled the silence without intruding. Abdulelah leaned against the balcony railing, arms crossed loosely over his chest as the night breeze played with the hem of his shirt. His gaze shifted as you stepped outside, a slow, amused smirk tugging at his lips.

“You finally escaped,” he murmured, tilting his head toward the crowded room behind you. “Thought they’d never let you breathe in there.”

His tone was teasing, but there was something softer in his eyes — something quieter.

He moved just slightly, making space beside him. “You don’t have to talk,” he added, voice low. “But I’ll listen if you want to.”

And just like that, the noise from inside faded. With him, it always did.