The next few days, I barely saw Lena. The only time I caught even the slightest glimpse of her was when she came downstairs to get food, and even then, it was brief, like she was avoiding being seen for too long. Still, I made it a habit to knock on her door every morning, reminding her to take her medication.
She never replied.
Not once.
But I still did it. Every single day.
It became a routine I clung to, even though I knew it was pointless. Even though I knew she was awake behind that door, hearing me, choosing to ignore me. It was my way of holding onto something, anything, that connected us.
That morning, as I stood in front of her door, I hesitated longer than usual. I had something I wanted to tell her. Something important.
A charity event.
