Out of Reach | Mikhaiah

Chapter 42

Disclaimer: This is pure fiction. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are purely coincidental. Read, enjoy, and don't take it too seriously!

— ✦ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 ✦ —

Mikhazra’s POV:

“Azra…”

Gwenora’s voice broke through the silence like a blade through paper—clean, sharp, and final.

“You have to go home.”

She stood across from me, the distance between us filled with a tension I didn’t have the strength to cut through. Her fists clenched a wrinkled envelope like it held the weight of an entire lifetime. Maybe it did.

Almost five years.

That’s how long it had been since I walked away from everything. From everyone.
From her.
From myself.

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t.
My eyes dropped to the envelope. It was old, its edges curled, stained, softened by time and by hands that had probably gripped it too tightly, too many times. The paper trembled in her fingers—but it wasn’t the wind. It was fear. Urgency.

“She’s in danger,” Gwenora said again, softer now.
“Si Arisha…”

Her name should’ve shattered something inside me. Should’ve made me flinch, recoil. But all it did was make my heart pause—as if the mention of her was enough to stop the clock inside my chest.

Then it hit me.

A crash of memories I had buried so deep suddenly broke the surface—wild, unrelenting, raw.

Gwenora kept talking, her lips moving through the haze, but I wasn’t there anymore.

I was somewhere else.
Somewhen else.

---

I remember the chill of the hallway air, the weight of the ceramic mug in my hand—coffee still steaming.

I wasn’t supposed to be there.

The quiet was comforting… until I heard voices from behind the frosted office door. Voices I wasn’t meant to hear.

“He is still my brother, Max,” said the man—strained, almost pleading.

“You’re blind,” barked my father’s voice. “Your brother is a monster! He wants your daughter dead. Wake up!”

I froze.

The cup in my hand trembled, heat seeping through porcelain.

“He’s not the man you used to know,” Dad continued, voice low and cutting. “He hates you. He thinks you stole the woman he loved.”

Woman?

What woman?

My head spun.

“Choose, Max. Buhay ng anak mo—o buhay ng kapatid mo?”

The world tilted.
My fingers slipped.
The cup crashed to the floor.
Scalding liquid splashed over my hand, the sharp sting yanking a hiss from my throat.

“Shit…”

The burn was instant. But the pain in my chest… that one came slower.

Then I saw them. Polished shoes soaked in coffee. And above them—my father.

He looked furious.

“What are you doing here?” he snapped. “And why are you making a mess?”

My hand was already red, skin blistering. But he didn’t care.