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Summary
"Perhaps they will understand—"
"And who are you to presume that?” The voice cut through the fragile thread of hope. “They will never understand, Rumi. Conceal it—until all is mended. Until you are mended."
Harsh? Perhaps. Yet for Rumi, it was an unshakable truth. Celine’s words had lodged themselves deep within her, not as a wound to be healed, but as a conviction she could not contest. Even in the quiet chambers of her own mind, she believed it—no one would ever accept her. She would never be as they were.
A human.
A normal human, in a world veiled by deceit and illusions.
Until that day came—
“Please… let us help you.”
Or Instead of an approach filled with anger on the train, Mira hugged Rumi instead, which resulted for the half-demon to open up, slowly..