The bookstore still smelled like paper and old coffee grounds. I wasn't planning on going in, but the bus was late, and the weather had turned gray and cutting, the kind that slips past your coat and into your spine.
I was halfway down the psychology aisle when I heard my name.
"Mara?"
I turned. Theo stood at the end of the row, a paperback in his hand. He looked thinner, but his eyes were steadier than I remembered. No twitch in the jaw, no haunted glaze. Just… tired. Like me.
I didn't speak right away, nor did he. The silence between us wasn't awkward, it was loaded, but not unbearable. We'd earned it.
"You're out," I said finally. Obvious, but it felt important to say.
"Just for the day. Supervised pass."
"How's it going?"
He shrugged. "I sleep now. Sometimes on purpose."
A laugh escaped before I could stop it. He smiled too, small and crooked.
I gestured at the book. "What's that?"
"Something about trauma and memory. Mostly jargon, but it beats the pamphlets."
"Still the same taste in torture, I see."
"Still the same sarcasm." He paused. "It's good to see you, Mara."
"It's weird," I admitted. "But not bad."
We didn't hug. We didn't do anything dramatic, just stood there, two people who had unraveled in different corners of the same war and somehow found threads to stitch themselves back together.
"I'm heading to the clinic," I said. "Didn't expect to see you until I got there."
"They said I could wander a little. I wanted to feel normal for five minutes."
I nodded. "Did it work?"
"Sort of. Then I saw a book about burnout and thought of you."
I rolled my eyes. "Touché."
He sobered. "I heard you left the ER."
"I had to."
"You holding up?"
"Mostly. I've got a job that doesn't kill me. My boss is understanding. There are no overnight shifts, no screaming, and I sometimes get to eat lunch."
Theo looked away, blinking hard. "That's good. That's really good."
"What about you?" I asked. "You getting what you need?"
"I think so. Still a work in progress."
"Aren't we all."
The moment stretched again, this time without strain, just quiet understanding.
"I should go," I said.
"Me too."
We didn't exchange numbers or make promises, just a nod, a shared acknowledgment of survival.
As I walked away, I didn't feel the usual weight, just a strange lightness.
I hadn't saved Theo. He hadn't saved me.
But we were still here, and that seemed like it was enough.