As the tempo dragged, the spaces between the notes filled with a soft, static hiss that felt like falling snow. He watched the pedestrians scurrying under umbrellas, their movements out of sync with the rhythmic, drowsy bass. For those four minutes, the city stopped being a chaotic hive and became a cinematic backdrop to his own quiet melancholy.

The neon lights of the city blurred into streaks of violet and amber through the rain-slicked window of the taxi. In his ears, the "Slowed + Reverb" remix of began to play, the familiar Arabic melody stretched into a haunting, ethereal hum.

The original track was a celebration of beauty— You are an angel —but in this slowed-down tempo, it sounded more like a memory than a compliment. Every beat hit like a heavy pulse underwater. The reverb carried the singer’s voice into a vast, empty space, making the listener feel like they were standing in a cathedral made of glass and starlight.

Zaid leaned his head against the cool glass. The world outside felt too fast, too loud, and too bright. But this version of the song gave him a place to hide. The lyrics, "Enti malaak, enti hayati" (You are an angel, you are my life), didn't feel like a love song anymore; they felt like a goodbye.

The song faded out, the final echo of the word Malaak hanging in the air for a second too long, leaving him in a silence that felt heavier than before. He reached for the "repeat" button, not ready to step back into the real world just yet.