Meanwhile, Dylan stood by his apartment window, the room brightly Lit yet unable to lighten the gloom in his heart. He stared at his phone, hesitating to dial again, fearing he might disturb her sleep.

He lingered at the window, eyes growing tired, before slowly turning to survey his apartment.

His hand brushed over the hammock he had crafted for Leyla. She loved it dearly, always lounging in it with joy. But tonight, Leyla rested against Edwin as he carried her away from Dylan, calling out his name in a moment of vulnerability.

Dylan closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he punched the wall with such force that his hand bled. Yet, he felt no pain.