The memory takes her back.
To the first time she met Fawdaa.
Zara was ten.
Three years after her mother's death.
One year after the truth had been revealed.
The "preferred one."
Fawdaa.
She had heard about her long before she ever saw her.
Curiosity had driven her at first—the need to understand, to see, to know what made Fawdaa so important.
So she went.
Their first meeting wasn't planned.
Fawdaa had just been taken out of the preservation tank and placed in a room designed to look like a nursery. Brightly painted walls, toys arranged neatly, everything carefully curated—as if it were meant to resemble something normal.
Something human.
Zara recognized it instantly.
Another artificial setup.
But the moment she stepped inside—
Everything else faded.
Fawdaa stood there.
Alive.
Real.
And identical.
Zara stopped walking.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She had seen glimpses before, reflections she wasn't meant to notice—but this…
This was different.
Seeing her up close felt wrong.
It hurt.
Because in that moment, one truth became impossible to ignore—
Fawdaa existed.
And that meant—
Zara only existed for her.
The realization shattered something inside her.
Tears fell before she could stop them.
She didn't even try.
A ten-year-old child stood there, breaking apart, crying without restraint—
And the person holding her together was the very reason she felt like she was falling apart.
Fawdaa stepped closer.
Carefully.
Gently.
And then she hugged her.
Zara froze.
The warmth felt real.
Comforting.
And that made it worse.
Because how could she find comfort in someone she resented?
Someone who had done nothing wrong—
Someone who didn't even know why she existed?
Her father's face flashed in her mind.
Or rather, the absence of it.
The way he refused to look at her anymore.
That was when it became clear.
She wasn't a daughter.
She was part of an experiment.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Her body trembled.
Her breathing grew uneven.
Everything she had held in for years—every moment of neglect, every unanswered question—rose to the surface all at once.
She couldn't hold it back anymore.
Fawdaa pulled back slightly, confused, her brows knitting together.
"Is everything okay?" she asked softly.
Her voice—
Zara went still.
It sounded exactly like her mother.
And just like that—
She broke completely.
Her hands shook as she reached into her pocket, pulling out the scalpel she had hidden there.
Before Fawdaa could react, Zara dragged it across her skin—once, then again, then again—each motion more frantic than the last.
"Stop—what are you doing?" Fawdaa cried, rushing forward.
She grabbed at her hands, trying to take the scalpel away, trying to hold her still.
But Zara shoved her back.
Hard.
Another motion.
Another cut.
From one hand to the other.
Uncontrolled.
Desperate.
Her hands trembled violently, stained, slipping from Fawdaa's grip.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun—
She stopped.
Breathing heavily, she pulled her sleeves down, covering everything.
The dark fabric absorbed it all.
That was why she wore those colors.
To hide it.
Silence filled the room.
Heavy.
Unbearable.
Fawdaa stood frozen.
Tears streamed down her face now.
She didn't understand.
She couldn't.
But she felt it.
The pain.
The confusion.
The helplessness.
Someone who looked exactly like her was falling apart right in front of her—
And she had no idea why.
She was brought back to reality when she saw Noor and Fazil hugging each other.
For a moment, she just stood there.
Watching.
Knowing she could never have that with her own brother.
But it reminded her of Fawdaa.
In her stormy life, Fawdaa had been the eye of the storm—
A quiet, steady calm in the chaos.
And that was how it began.
Zara started sneaking into the research center.
Again and again.
Just to see her.
They would meet in secret, hidden from everyone else.
They played sometimes—simple things, small distractions—but mostly, Zara would talk.
She would tell Fawdaa everything.
Stories of what she saw.
What she heard.
What she felt.
Things she had never told anyone before.
Fawda, on the other hand, listened.
Always.
And she would hug her.
Every single time.
Her eyes would often drift to Zara's arms, to the marks she tried so hard to hide.
Fawdaa didn't ask questions.
She didn't need to.
Instead, she tried to help.
Cleaning the wounds carefully, though her hands were unsure at first. The bandaging was clumsy, uneven—
It was her first time.
So Zara taught her.
Slowly.
Patiently.
How to wrap the bandage properly.
How to hold it firm, but not too tight.
That way, Fawda could take care of her.
And maybe—
just maybe—
it would take away that saddened look in her eyes.
Zara would hug her back and whisper softly,
"It's not your fault."
And then, they would laugh.
Small, quiet laughter.
But real.
For the first time in a long while—
Zara felt something close to happiness.
She began telling her stories about her mother.
Memories she had buried deep within herself.
Fawda listened to each one like it mattered.
Like she mattered.
Zara found herself growing attached.
Not just to Fawda—
but to her voice.
It reminded her of her mother.
And this time, it didn't shatter her.
It comforted her.
For the first time, she felt like she had a connection.
Something real.
Something that didn't hurt.
The spiraling thoughts began to quiet.
Not gone—
but no longer consuming her.
This continued for nearly six months.
And in that time, something else changed.
Zara began to think differently.
Not just about surviving—
but about understanding.
About creating.
About changing things.
She started forming ideas.
Plans.
Even experiments of her own.
She would explain them to Fawda in detail, her eyes lighting up in a way they never had before.
And Fawda would listen—
completely, attentively—
as if every word Zara spoke held meaning.
Their bond grew stronger with each passing day.
They both knew no one would enter that area without reason.
Every visit had to be announced.
Every movement controlled.
So Fawdaa learned to watch.
To listen.
To warn.
Whenever someone was about to come, she would alert Zara in advance.
So Zara could leave before anyone saw her.
Before anyone mistook her for what she wasn't—
and turned her into something she feared.
Over time, Fawda began to change too.
Not drastically.
Just small, subtle alterations.
Day by day.
Each one bringing her closer—
to someone Zara once knew.
Her mother.
And with every change, Zara felt it again.
That quiet, painful question rising to the surface.
Did her mother ever truly love her?
Or was she only ever meant to be a donor—
a beginning for something else?
The thoughts still came.
They always would.
But now—
Zara didn't silence them the way she used to.
Instead—
She stepped closer.
Wrapped her arms around Fawda.
And held on.
At the mere sight of Noor and Fazil, she was reminded of Fawdaa—
Of how she had once saved her.
For a brief moment, something softened within her.
But then her gaze shifted.
Toward the others.
The clones.
They were watching her.
Not with curiosity.
Not with recognition.
But with fear.
The same fear she had just seen in Noor and Fazel's eyes.
The same fear reflected again and again—
in every single one of them.
And suddenly—
it felt familiar.
Because she had seen that fear before.
In Fawdaa.
The way she used to look at the researchers.
At the doctors.
At him.
Her father.
Zayd .
Zara stood still, her breath unsteady.
It clashed inside her—
everything she had been holding onto,
everything she had been working toward.
For so long, she had been searching for a way out.
A way to escape.
Even if it meant exchanging her own life for it.
But now—
that thought felt wrong.
She didn't want this anymore.
Not like this.
She didn't want to hurt anyone.
Not them.
Not again.
And so, something within her shifted.
Quietly.
But completely.
She let go.
Of the plan.
Of the experiments.
Of everything she had built her purpose around.
She made a decision.
Her next step wouldn't be escape.
It would be undoing.
She would send them back.
Back to where they belonged.
Back to their own bodies.
Give them the life they were meant to live.
A peaceful one.
Even if it meant giving up everything she had worked for.
Even if it meant losing her only way out.
It didn't matter anymore.
For the first time—
Zara chose them.
And with that—
she made up her mind.