ASHAL
I don't remember driving home that night. I remember sitting in my car outside Dr. Welsh's building for a long time, staring at nothing, replaying the moment her face went pale.
I remember my hands shaking on the steering wheel. I remember telling myself that her silence didn't mean anything, that people go still like that all the time, that maybe I imagined the horror behind her eyes.
But I didn't imagine it. I know what I saw.
She never answered my question, not really. She said my name quietly, then mumbled something about certain things not being hers to share. But her face had already told me everything her mouth refused to.
I haven't slept properly since.
This morning, I stand in my closet for almost ten minutes trying to remember how to button a shirt. My mind keeps circling back to the same question, over and over, until the words lose shape entirely. I say it in my head so many times it stops sounding like English.
