CHAPTER FIVE
'In Another Universe, I Get To Save You'

SAYEED ESTATE, GOTHAM CITY — TWO YEARS AGO

MAHEEN SAT CROSS-LEGGED ON THE LIVING ROOM RUG, the pages of her textbook spread open in front of her, though the words swam in and out of focus, meaningless and distant. The house was unnervingly still, the kind of quiet that made her skin prickle. The only sound was the faint, ghostly whistle of the kettle in the kitchen, a soft, repetitive wail that somehow felt intrusive. She blinked at the clock, startled at how much time had passed.

Her mind was still stuck in a loop, replaying the moment Jason walked out the door.

It wasn't just his leaving that unsettled her. It was the way he had looked at her before he left. Something unspoken, an almost imperceptible hesitation. His eyes had lingered on her like he wanted to say something, but then—nothing. Just a breath, a pause, and then he was gone.

She should have made him say it.

A sharp knock at the door split the silence, jolting her out of her thoughts. Her head snapped up, a strange, immediate weight settling in her chest. She expected the familiar rhythm of her father's footsteps heading toward the door, steady and certain as always.

But there was nothing steady about the voices that followed.

Her father spoke first, his voice low, tense in a way that sent a chill crawling up her spine. Then another voice responded—deeper, familiar, unmistakable.

Bruce.

Maheen stilled. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

She couldn't make out the words, but the tone—it was wrong. Her father never sounded like that. And then—her mother.

Not angry. Afraid.

"She's just a child," her mother murmured, barely more than a whisper.

"She deserves to know," Bruce answered, firm, but not unyielding. There was something heavy in his voice, something that didn't belong there.

Her stomach twisted.

Maheen rose to her feet before she even realised she was moving, drawn forward by something cold and terrible. She stepped carefully, as if somehow, the weight of her footsteps might change what was about to happen.

As she reached the kitchen doorway, the scene before her made her chest tighten.

Her father stood rigid, his arms crossed over his chest like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will. His face was pale, his jaw tight, his shoulders rigid with barely contained tension. Her mother stood beside him, gripping a dish towel so tightly her knuckles had turned white, twisting and wringing the fabric as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.

And then there was Bruce.

He stood near the doorway, his broad frame seeming somehow smaller, his presence dimmed. His usual quiet strength—the unwavering certainty she had come to associate with him—was fractured. The look on his face, the sheer weight of whatever he carried, made something inside her twist painfully.

Maheen's breath hitched.

The silence stretched, unbearably thick.

"What's going on?" she asked, stepping fully into the room.

No one answered.

Her parents stilled, as if bracing for impact. Bruce turned toward her, slow and deliberate, his expression carved with something heavy—grief she didn't yet understand, a sorrow so profound it pressed into the very air of the room.

Maheen's father opened his mouth. "May—" His voice wavered, unsteady in a way she had heard before. When Amir died. When he was trying to tell her that her brother's death wasn't her fault. But the words crumbled before they could fully take shape, lost to something he couldn't bring himself to say. He looked toward her mother, a silent plea for help.

Her mother didn't answer. She didn't even look up. Her hands clutched the dishtowel in a death grip, her knuckles pale. Her shoulders shook. Tears welled in her dark eyes, slipping free in silent, uncontrolled streaks down her face.

Something was wrong.

Something was very, very wrong.

A cold weight settled in Maheen's stomach, twisting deep and sharp. Her pulse thundered in her ears, a frantic, uneven rhythm that only worsened as the silence stretched.

"Why are you all acting so weird?" Her voice edged higher, an unspoken panic tightening around her throat. She turned sharply to Bruce, her breathing uneven. "Where's Jason?"

Bruce's silence made her stomach drop.

His face was unreadable, but not in the way it usually was—not with that careful, composed restraint she had come to expect from him. This was different. His jaw was tight, his throat working as he swallowed hard, as if the words physically pained him. For the first time in her life, he looked like he didn't know how to say something.

Her breath hitched.

"Sweetheart," her mother finally whispered, her voice shaking as she took a tentative step forward, hands outstretched, reaching for her.

Maheen flinched back. "No."

She didn't know why she recoiled. She just knew that if she let her mother hold her, it would become real.

"Where is he?" she demanded, harsher this time. Her voice cracked, but she didn't care.

Her father exhaled, stepping forward, his hand reaching for her shoulder. "May, sit down."

"No." She jerked away from his touch, her pulse roaring now, a violent drumbeat in her ears. "Just tell me! Where's Jason? What happened?"

Her father's face crumpled like something inside him had shattered. Her mother turned away completely, pressing a trembling hand to her mouth, as if she could hold back the sob threatening to escape.

No. No, no, no.

She turned back to Bruce. He was the only one left. The only one still looking at her. The only one who could fix this.

"Tell me," she pleaded. "Where is he?"

Bruce inhaled sharply, like the weight of this moment was crushing him. And then, finally, he met her eyes.

And that was what did it.

Not the silence. Not her father's broken expression. Not her mother's strangled sob.

It was Bruce.

Bruce, who never looked shaken. Bruce, who always had a plan. Bruce, who always knew what to do.

Bruce, whose eyes now held something raw and devastating, stripped bare of the armor he never let anyone see.

His voice, when it came, was low. Rough. "Jason's gone, Maheen."

Gone.

The word hung in the air, weightless. Unreal.

Her mind rejected it immediately.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No, that's not true."

Bruce didn't move.

"You're lying." The words trembled as they left her, her breath quick and uneven. "He promised me. He—he wouldn't just—"

Her voice faltered.

Her mother let out a strangled sob. Her father's face contorted with grief, as if he couldn't stand to see her like this.

But Maheen didn't look at them.

She looked at Bruce.

Because if it wasn't true, he would say so.

He would tell her this was a mistake.

He would fix it.

Wouldn't he?

Maheen blinked, her brows drawing together in confusion. "What do you mean, gone?"

The word felt wrong, misplaced, like it didn't belong in the same sentence as Jason's name. Gone was what you said when someone left town. When they moved away. When they were temporarily out of reach but still somewhere, still reachable. Not this. Not whatever was making her mother cry so hard she couldn't breathe. Not whatever was making her father look like he was physically unraveling before her eyes.

She shook her head, as if she could undo the moment itself, rewind time, unhear what Bruce had just said.

No one spoke.

The silence wrapped around her like a vice, thick and suffocating. It pressed against her ribs, crushing the air from her lungs.

Bruce's silence was the loudest answer of all.

It was worse than the tears, worse than the way her father had to steady himself against the wall. Because Bruce didn't hesitate when it came to Jason. He didn't falter. If there was even the smallest sliver of hope, Bruce would have clung to it.

Maheen's stomach twisted into knots.

"No," she interrupted sharply, her voice slicing through the stillness. Her head shook, over and over, wild and desperate. "No, that's not true. You're lying."

Bruce flinched. It was subtle—just the smallest shift in his expression, the tightening of his jaw, the way his shoulders curled inward like he was bearing the weight of the world.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with regret.

The words sent a violent shudder through her.

"You're wrong!" she shouted, her voice breaking under the weight of her own fury and fear. She turned to her parents, her gaze pleading, frantic. "Jason's not dead—"

Maheen's breath came quicker, harsher.

This wasn't happening.

Jason wasn't dead. He wasn't.

He promised her.

He said he'd come back.

He swore.

The words echoed in her skull, bouncing off the walls of her mind like a cruel joke she wasn't in on. Jason's gone.

Maheen stared at Bruce, waiting—praying—for him to take it back. For him to realise the mistake, to see how ridiculous it sounded. But he didn't. He just stood there, rigid and silent, his face carved from stone, except for his eyes—his eyes betrayed him. She had never seen them like that before.

Empty.

Hollow.

Final.

Her breath came in short, uneven gasps. The room felt too small, the walls pressing in, squeezing the air from her lungs. The quiet, the way her mother's face crumpled as she turned away, how her father rubbed a shaking hand down his face as if trying to steady himself—she couldn't take it.

"No," Maheen whispered again, shaking her head. "No, that's not true. You're lying."

Bruce didn't flinch. Didn't argue. He just held her gaze, and it was that unbearable, suffocating understanding in his expression that made something inside her crack.

Maheen's pulse roared in her ears. Her fingers curled into fists so tight she could feel her nails cutting into her palms. She turned back to Bruce, her vision blurring, her throat raw from the weight of unspoken words.

"If he's gone—" her voice wavered before sharpening into something fierce, something desperate, "—then show me. Show me his body."

Her mother let out a horrified gasp, her knees buckling as she collapsed into the nearest chair. Her father sucked in a sharp breath, pressing his fingers against his temple like he could will away the pain. Even Bruce's expression momentarily faltered.

"You don't want that, Maheen," he said, quiet but firm, as if the words pained him.

"Yes, I do!" she shrieked, taking a step forward. "You're lying! He's not gone!"

Bruce exhaled slowly, shoulders heavy with something unbearable. He didn't respond this time.

Because there was nothing left to say.

Maheen took a step back, her head shaking violently. This wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Jason was too stubborn, too reckless, too full of life to just—just not exist anymore.

Her vision tunneled. Her mind screamed at her to move, to do something. She couldn't stand here, drowning in this suffocating nothingness, letting these words press into her like bruises that would never heal.

A sob clawed its way up her throat, but she swallowed it down, forcing herself to breathe, to think, to fix this.

Jason wasn't dead.

She'd see him again.

She just had to find him.

She turned and ran.

"May—!" her father called, but she was already halfway to the door, her hands fumbling to shove her feet into her sneakers. She needed to get out. Needed to find him. This was a mistake—a sick joke, a misunderstanding, something that could be fixed if she just found him—

A strong arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her back before she could reach the door.

"Let me go!" she shrieked, thrashing wildly, her nails digging into the unyielding grip around her.

Bruce's grip tightened. "Maheen—"

She struggled, twisting, kicking, anything to break free, but he held her firm, his arms wrapping around her like an iron cage.

"No! Let me go!" Her voice cracked as she kept kicking and clawing at his arms, but he still didn't loosen his hold. "I have to find him! I have to—"

Her strength wavered. Her struggles weakened. Her breath hitched in her throat, splintering as the cracks in her resolve grew too deep to contain.

The room blurred—no, not the room. Her. Her vision swam, her legs giving out beneath her.

Bruce lowered them both to the floor, his grip never easing even as her fingers twisted into his shirt like a lifeline. She buried her face against his shoulder, choking on the sobs that she had fought so hard to keep at bay.

"I should've stopped him," she gasped between ragged breaths. "I should've made him stay. I should've—"

Bruce didn't say anything.

Didn't tell her it wasn't her fault. Didn't tell her Jason wouldn't have listened. Didn't tell her all the things she already knew but couldn't bear to hear.

He just held her.

Because Jason was gone.

Because they both knew—Jason never listened. Not to her. Not to Bruce. Not to anyone.

And now he never would again.

And nothing would ever be the same, again.

⎯⎯⎯

DR. STEVENS' OFFICE, GOTHAM CITY — TWO YEARS AGO

MAHEEN STEPPED INTO DR. STEVENS' OFFICE with the kind of reluctance that weighed down her every movement. Each step felt like she was trudging through quicksand, sinking deeper into a place she didn't want to be. The room was designed to be calming—soft, neutral colors, warm lighting, shelves neatly filled with books that, in another life, she might have wanted to pick up and skim through. But right now, it felt distant. Clinical. Like a carefully arranged setting in someone else's world, one where feelings were meant to be unpacked and explored.

She didn't want to explore anything.

Dr. Stevens sat behind her desk, poised but unintrusive, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her expression was composed, open—patient. But Maheen couldn't bring herself to meet her eyes. Instead, her gaze flickered to the edge of the desk, to the way everything had its place, organized, unshaken. It made her stomach twist. Nothing about her own life felt like that.

Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her body curling inward, as if she could shrink away from the weight pressing down on her.

"Maheen," Dr. Stevens greeted, her voice gentle yet firm. "It's good to see you today. I know it's been a while since our last session, but I'm really glad you came."

Glad.

She didn't know how to respond to that. The only reason she was here at all was because her parents had insisted. Had begged, really, in that quiet, tired way that made guilt scrape at the edges of her resolve. Just try, they had said. Just talk.

But they didn't get it.

Talking wouldn't change anything. Talking wouldn't bring Jason back. Talking wouldn't erase the images burned into her skull—the ones that clawed at her in the dark when sleep refused to take her.

The silence stretched. Dr. Stevens waited, never rushing, never pushing, but the weight of expectation hung between them.

"Do you want to talk about what brought you here today?" she asked, her voice measured, careful. There was no pressure in the question, but Maheen could hear the concern laced beneath it, could feel it like a presence in the air.

She should answer. Should give something, anything. But all she felt was exhaustion.

Her arms tightened around herself. "Not really." The words were barely more than a mutter, flat and unconvincing.

Dr. Stevens nodded, as if she had expected as much.

The kinky-haired girl stared down at a small imperfection in the rug beneath her chair, her pulse a dull, steady thrum in her ears. She knew what came next. The slow unraveling. The careful questions. The gentle attempts to guide her into peeling back the layers she had wrapped around herself.

She didn't want that.

"I'm fine," she added, forcing the words out, though they felt brittle on her tongue.

Dr. Stevens didn't react immediately. She simply observed, giving Maheen space to fill the silence if she chose. But Maheen didn't. She let it settle, thick and unmoving.

After a moment, her therapist leaned forward slightly, resting her hands on the desk. "That's a hard thing to believe."

Something sharp flickered through Maheen's chest, an irritation she couldn't quite name. "It's the truth."

The middle-aged woman tilted her head, studying her. "Is it?"

Maheen's jaw tensed.

She hated this part. The quiet, patient dismantling.

Her therapist never forced her into corners, never pried anything loose with brute force. But she made silence feel like an invitation, like a space waiting to be filled. And right now, Maheen wasn't sure if she had the strength to hold it all in.

Her fingers dug into the fabric of her sleeves, gripping tightly, as if holding herself together by sheer will.

Dr. Stevens let out a slow breath. "Fine is... easy to say. But that doesn't mean it's true."

The hazel-eyed girl felt something prickle behind her ribs, something dangerously close to feeling. She swallowed it down.

"I don't see the point in this," she said instead, voice steadier now, controlled. "Talking about it won't change anything."

"No," Dr. Stevens agreed. "It won't change what happened. But it might help you."

Maheen forced out a hollow laugh, though it sounded more like an exhale. "I don't need help."

Her therapist didn't argue. She never did. But the look she gave her, quiet and knowing, made Maheen's stomach twist.

"You loved him." The words were soft but undeniable.

Something inside Maheen clenched so hard it almost hurt.

She inhaled sharply, shaking her head. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Okay." Dr. Stevens accepted it without hesitation. No push. No expectation. Just quiet understanding.

And for some reason, that made it worse.

Because Maheen knew she would have preferred a fight. Something loud, something sharp, something to justify the anger coiled in her chest. But instead, there was just this unbearable patience. This willingness to wait.

The silence stretched again, but this time it was suffocating.

Dr. Stevens finally spoke again, her voice almost careful. "Would you rather talk about something else?"

Maheen hesitated.

No. She didn't want to talk at all.

But she also didn't want to sit here in this awful quiet, drowning in things left unsaid.

Her fingers loosened slightly against her sleeves. "I don't know."

And for now, that was the closest she could get to the truth.

Maheen sat stiffly in the chair, arms crossed so tightly it felt like she was holding herself together by force. The silence in Dr. Stevens' office was unbearable—thick and suffocating, pressing against her ribs like a vice. She hated it. Hated the way it made her feel like she was supposed to say something, like she owed the moment an explanation.

She shifted slightly, gaze flickering around the office, landing on anything but the woman across from her. The bookshelves, the framed certificates on the wall, the glass of water sitting untouched on the small table beside her. It was all too neat, too structured—so at odds with the mess clawing at the inside of her chest.

Dr. Stevens didn't push. She just waited.

It should've been a relief, but it wasn't. It only made the silence heavier, like it was filling up the room, squeezing the air from Maheen's lungs.

She wasn't here to talk. She was here because her parents had insisted, because they thought sitting in this chair, in this room, would somehow make things better. That maybe if she pretended to try, they'd believe she was okay.

She wasn't. But she couldn't tell them that.

After a long pause, Dr. Stevens finally spoke, her voice even, patient. "You know, sometimes we think we can keep everything inside, but it doesn't always work that way. Grief is complicated. It doesn't follow a straight path, and it doesn't always make sense. It's okay to feel lost. Or even angry, Maheen."

Maheen's chest tightened. Anger?

That wasn't what this was. She felt a lot of things—guilt, loneliness, something heavy and hollow that never left her—but anger?

She shook her head, quick and dismissive. "I'm not angry." The words came out sharper than she intended, as if trying to cut the conversation off before it could begin. "I don't need this. I'm fine. I just—" She exhaled sharply, fingers digging into her sleeves. "I just need to get back to my life. My parents are on my case, and they think this will fix everything. It won't."

Dr. Stevens didn't react, didn't argue. She just regarded Maheen with that same steady gaze, as if she were watching something unravel at the edges. "It's okay to feel like this won't help," she said, measured and calm. "Especially when grief feels overwhelming. But pretending it isn't there won't make it go away."

Something in Maheen's jaw twitched.

She wasn't pretending.

She was surviving.

Her fists clenched in her lap, nails biting into her palms. "I don't want to feel this way," she admitted, the words slipping out before she could stop them. "I just want things to go back to normal. I can't—I can't do this."

Her voice cracked on the last part, and her whole body tensed as she looked away, as if willing Dr. Stevens not to notice.

But she did. Of course she did.

She didn't push, though. Didn't react like Maheen was about to break apart at the seams.

"You don't have to fix it right away," she said instead, voice softer now. "It's okay to feel overwhelmed. It's okay to be in this space, even if it feels impossible."

"Yeah, well, I don't have time for this," Maheen muttered, shaking her head, her pulse hammering in her ears. "I just want it to stop. I just want to—" She hesitated, swallowed hard. "I just want to be okay again."

The words felt small. Barely a whisper.

She hated how raw she sounded. Hated that it was getting harder to hold everything inside.

Dr. Stevens didn't look away. "You're grieving, Maheen," she said gently. "And grief takes time. It doesn't have a timeline. There's no right way to move through it. And it's okay to not know what you need right now."

Maheen felt her throat close up again, something thick and unbearable rising in her chest. This was harder than she thought it would be. She wasn't supposed to let anything slip. She wasn't supposed to let any of it show.

She forced herself to breathe. Swallow it down. Push it away. Just like she always did.

"I don't need this," she said again, but her voice was different this time. Quieter. Strained.

Then she stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor.

The therapist didn't stop her. She didn't tell her to sit back down, didn't try to make her stay.

"Thanks," Maheen said, her voice hollow. "But I'm fine. I don't need you to tell me I'm not okay. I know that."

She grabbed her bag, her movements quick and clipped. She wanted out. Needed to be anywhere but here.

Dr. Stevens still didn't stop her. She only spoke as Maheen reached for the door.

"Maheen," she said quietly, "I'm here when you're ready to talk. You don't have to go through this alone."

Maheen didn't respond.

She just walked out, leaving the office behind, stepping into the cool Gotham air like she could outrun the weight pressing against her ribs.

But it didn't go away.

It never did.

She kept walking, her bag slung over her shoulder, her breath coming faster than it should. The session hadn't fixed anything. It hadn't changed anything.

Jason was still gone.

And she was still here.

Alone.

⎯⎯⎯

SAYEED ESTATE, GOTHAM CITY — FOUR YEARS AGO

IT WAS ONE OF THOSE RARE RAINY DAYS IN GOTHAM, the kind that made the world outside feel muffled and distant, like everything was wrapped in a blanket of soundless gray. The sky was thick with clouds, heavy with the promise of more rain. Inside, Maheen and Jason were sprawled across the living room floor of her house, a pile of blankets surrounding them as they played video games. The game was paused as they both lazily tossed popcorn at each other, laughing as the kernels bounced off their heads. For a moment, it was just the two of them—no pressures, no distractions, no world outside the estate.

But the calm was fragile, like a delicate bubble about to burst. And, as always, when they were alone together, the conversation shifted. It always did, in a way that neither of them could control.

Maheen was distracted, her eyes scanning the screen without really seeing it. Her mind was elsewhere, caught in the undertow of thoughts she didn't want to voice, but couldn't push away. She tilted her head slightly, her fingers still wrapped loosely around the game controller. "Do you ever think about what happens when we're older?" she asked, her voice quieter than usual, like she was testing the waters before diving into something she wasn't sure she wanted to face.

Jason didn't even glance up from the screen, his thumb flicking over the controller with practiced ease. He shrugged, a lazy, nonchalant movement that suggested he didn't fully understand the weight of the question. "I think we'll be fine. We'll have each other."

The girl nodded, but the words didn't bring the comfort she was expecting. There was something about the simplicity of Jason's answer that felt too... easy. She couldn't shake the uncertainty gnawing at her, the quiet fear that bubbled up in her chest like a slow burn. She bit her lip, glancing down at her controller, unable to focus on the game anymore.

"I don't know," she said, her voice hesitating, a quiet crack of vulnerability in her tone. "I mean... what if we go separate ways? You'll probably get caught up in something... You've always had that... drive. That thing inside you, you know? What if one day you don't even remember me?"

He paused the game this time, the controller in his hands growing still as he shifted his body to face her. His eyes, usually full of fire and mischief, were suddenly more serious than she expected. "I'm not going anywhere," he said, his voice firm and unyielding, like it was the simplest truth in the world. "You think I'd leave you behind?"

Maheen's breath caught in her throat. She had expected him to brush it off, to joke like he always did, to dismiss her concerns with the ease of someone who hadn't yet thought about the future. But this—this was different. Jason was looking at her like he was making a promise, like the world could fall apart around them and he'd still be there. And for a moment, she believed him.

But the feeling didn't last long. She felt a blush creep up her neck, a hot wave of self-consciousness as she met his gaze and then quickly looked away, focusing on the game console in her hands. It was easier to hide behind that than confront the swell of emotions that had suddenly overwhelmed her. She cleared her throat, trying to brush the moment off. "Well... I don't know. Things change when people grow up, right? They get busy, their lives... they don't stay the same forever."

Jason remained quiet for a beat, and Maheen couldn't bring herself to look at him. Her mind was spinning, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. She didn't want to think about the future—about the inevitable drift that seemed to happen when time stretched out. And yet, the thought kept creeping into her mind, gnawing at the edges of her peace. What if, one day, Jason wasn't there? What if she was left standing alone in a world that didn't make sense without him?

When he finally spoke, his tone was softer now, the playful edge gone from his voice. "We'll always have each other, May. That's not something that changes. You're stuck with me, whether you like it or not."

Her heart fluttered in her chest, the sincerity in his words settling over her like a warm blanket, but there was still a weight she couldn't shake off. She didn't respond immediately, her fingers tapping nervously against the game controller. "I don't know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's just... I'm scared. I don't want to lose you."

Jason's expression softened, and he reached out to nudge her shoulder gently with his own. It wasn't much—just a small gesture, but it felt like an anchor in the storm of her thoughts. "You won't," he said simply, his voice steady. "Not if I can help it."

For a moment, Maheen let herself believe him, allowed herself to settle into the comfort of his words. Maybe, just maybe, they could hold onto each other. Maybe they could weather whatever storms came next.

But deep down, she still wondered. Would it be enough? Could they stay this close forever? Or would the world inevitably pull them apart, like it always did with everyone else?

She shook her head, trying to push the doubts away. Jason was right here, and for now, that was all that mattered.

IZIA'S NOTES

new chapter!! i swear there's like max 5 chapters of this arc then we can move to happier (? lol) stuff. but i need to show you how sweet my kids were before life wrecked them 😔 like jason's promises gave maheen trust issues and i need y'all to witness it 🥰

hope you enjoyed this chapter and please don't forget to vote, comment and share! it's always a pleasure to read your comments ❤️

© ADONYSIAC  ― IZIA™