The night was unusually quiet. The kind of silence that didn't feel peaceful—just... empty. Asharab lay in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the cracked ceiling. The day had been eventful, but the unease in his heart refused to settle. His thoughts tangled with guilt, uncertainty, and flashes of the undead faces he had seen. Sleep felt like a stranger. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard their growls. Saw the blood. The fear. The helplessness.
With a soft sigh, he rose from bed, careful not to wake his brother. He stepped out into the dimly lit corridor of the house. The air was cool, tinged with the scent of iron and disinfectant. It reminded him of hospitals—of loss. He walked slowly to the terrace, the only place that ever gave him some clarity. The moon glowed bright above, casting silvery light across the ruined colony. From up here, the world still looked broken... but somehow survivable. At least from a distance.
He leaned on the rusted railing, eyes scanning the landscape. Burnt cars, collapsed roofs, barricades built from desperation. But in that silence, under the pale moon, even chaos had a rhythm. A strange stillness.
A soft sound behind him broke his train of thought.
"Asharab?" Habiba's voice called, gentle and uncertain.
He turned. She stood at the doorway, arms crossed against the chill. Her hair was slightly messy, her eyes tired but kind. "You okay?" she asked, stepping closer.
"I couldn't sleep," he replied quietly. "Thought some air might help."
Habiba walked to his side and stood silently, gazing up at the moon with him. "Same," she murmured. "Too much on my mind."
Asharab chuckled faintly. "Welcome to my world. Overthinking is basically my new cardio."
She smiled. "You hide it well, though. The stress, I mean."
He turned to her slightly. "That's because if I stop joking… I might start breaking."
Her expression softened. "You don't have to hide with me, you know."
"I know," he said, his voice lower now. "But sometimes, I think… if I fall apart, who'll keep everyone together?"
Habiba gently touched his arm. "You don't always have to be strong. We're in this together."
Asharab looked at her hand, then at her face. "Then stay beside me, Habiba. Through the worst… and the weird."
Asharab couldn't look away—his eyes locked with Habiba's, the world fading around them. Minutes passed in silence, hearts speaking louder than words.She finally broke the stillness with a soft laugh. "Are you messing with me right now?"He shook his head, voice low and sincere. "No… right now, I'm messing with my heart."Her cheeks flushed, a smile playing on her lips. "Turns out, you're more romantic than a hero."He leaned in slightly. "Then let me be both—just for you."She whispered, "You already are."
She laughed. "You mean like your burnt chicken curry phase?"
"That was an experiment!" he defended, mock-offended. "A delicious disaster."
She shook her head, smiling. "You're ridiculous."
"And you love it."
Before she could deny it, the door creaked again.
"You two couldn't sleep either?" said a groggy voice.
Asharab's best friend appeared, rubbing his eyes, hair all messy. "I swear, even in a zombie apocalypse, you guys have romantic tension loud enough to keep the entire building awake."
Habiba rolled her eyes. "No romantic tension."
Asharab raised an eyebrow. "Says the girl who cried holding my mom's dupatta and asked for marriage like we were in a soap opera."
"Shut up!" she laughed, lightly slapping his arm.
His best friend flopped onto a chair nearby and smirked. "Seriously, the way she cried, I almost offered to marry you myself."
Asharab gasped dramatically. "Finally! Someone appreciates me!"
"Yeah, for your cooking maybe," his friend added.
"Hey! My chicken curry brought peace to a broken home. That's true love," Asharab declared.
Habiba giggled. "Your curry nearly brought the fire brigade."
Asharab placed a hand over his heart. "True love always comes with a little fire."
They all burst into laughter.
His best friend opened a half-eaten bag of snacks. "Want some apocalypse-approved stale chips?"
Asharab snatched the bag. "Of course. Who needs fancy date nights when we've got expired munchies and rooftop romance?"
Habiba smiled. "You're impossible."
"I'm a limited-edition, zombie-slaying masterpiece," Asharab said proudly.
"More like a walking meme," his friend muttered, tossing a chip at him.
They sat there—three misfits in a fallen world—sharing chips, stories, and laughter. Their smiles didn't erase the horrors, but they dulled the edges.
Asharab, ever the entertainer, began mimicking the colony's grumpiest uncle. "Back in my day, we didn't have zombies. We had in-laws! Same thing but worse!"
His best friend almost choked laughing. "Bro! Don't let my mom hear that!"
Habiba giggled, then looked at Asharab fondly. "You know… you make it easier."
He turned to her, surprised. "Easier?"
"Yeah," she said, voice softer now. "All of it. This chaos. This grief. When you joke… when you smile… I forget the world's gone mad."
Asharab leaned slightly closer. "You're the only reason I joke. If you weren't here, I'd probably be that uncle by now."
She looked into his eyes. "And if you weren't here, I'd probably still be alone… scared."
They were quiet for a moment, their faces close, the tension warm—not heavy. Not frightening.
"Can I tell you something?" Habiba whispered.
He nodded.
"I used to be scared of losing people… of caring too much. But now, I'm more scared of not having someone to care for. You changed that."
Asharab's chest tightened. "Habiba…"
"You made this broken world feel like home," she said. "I don't know when it happened. Maybe the moment you risked everything to save me. Or maybe when you burnt that curry but still made me eat it."
He smiled, touched. "I remember that. You didn't complain even once."
"I was starving," she teased, nudging him. "But yeah… I'd eat burnt curry every day if it meant sitting here with you."
He held her gaze. "Stay with me, always. We'll fight through everything. But please… don't ever disappear again."
"I promise," she whispered.
From the side, his best friend cleared his throat loudly. "Okay okay, lovebirds. You're making me third-wheel harder than a tricycle."
Asharab grinned. "Just wait till the wedding. I'm making you wear a pink sherwani."
"Try that and I'm feeding you to the zombies," his friend said, lying flat and using the chip bag as a pillow.
"I'll come too," Habiba added. "To film it."
They laughed again, lighter this time. The shadows of the world felt less suffocating with each passing moment.
As Habiba leaned her head gently on Asharab's shoulder, he didn't move. He just smiled to himself, content. His best friend mumbled something about needing a better mattress and drifted into a nap.
Asharab looked at Habiba and whispered, "You know what's crazy?"
"What?" she asked sleepily.
"That in a world full of monsters, I still found peace. Right here. With you."
Her fingers curled slightly around his arm. "And I found love… in the middle of ruins."
He stayed quiet for a moment, then added, "Sometimes I wonder if we're just pretending. Like it's all a dream we'll wake up from."
Habiba shook her head slowly. "No dream feels this real. No nightmare ever gave me someone worth fighting for."
Asharab exhaled deeply, his voice soft. "If we make it through this… if there's a tomorrow… I want it with you. Not just as survivors. As something more."
Habiba looked up at him, eyes shimmering in the moonlight. "Then let's promise—right here, right now. No matter how bad it gets, no matter what we lose… we don't lose this."
He nodded solemnly. "This is ours."
She smiled and gently reached up to fix a strand of his messy hair. "Even if you become that grumpy uncle one day."
"I'll only do it if you become the aunty who yells at kids from the porch."
"Deal."
Their fingers entwined slowly, naturally. The silence between them no longer felt empty. It felt full—of unspoken promises, shared grief, and a fragile hope.
And for that one night, under the ghostly light of the moon and stars, the apocalypse didn't feel so terrifying anymore.
It felt human.
It felt like home.