The wall scraped against her shirt. Old stone, uneven, full of small ridges that caught the fabric like short nails.
Elara stayed there too long, back pressed to it. The sun burned the far side of the garden and warmed the air, but the shadow near the wall still held a coolness that didn't fit. She lifted her back for a second, as if to breathe better, then leaned in again. Her body chose the corner.
The children ran far off, drawing wide arcs, cutting across the path as if no line existed. The cloth ball passed from foot to foot, and when someone missed, laughter burst loud and returned smaller, striking the wall and dropping near her like something unowned.
One tutor crossed the garden to fetch a cloth. Another spoke low to a child. The sound didn't arrive whole. It arrived broken.
pasted
Elara looked at her hand.
Opened it.
Closed it.
Her fingers searched for something to hold, but nothing fit. She almost reached for a piece of wood on the ground—the toy lay nearby, forgotten as always—and stopped before touching it. Her hand slid back to her side.
Her body swayed a little, almost on its own, the way a foot asks to move without permission. She took a short step forward and stopped, as if remembering something mid-step.
The nearest tutor didn't come.
She only shifted.
Not much. A patch of ground filled where air had been.
Elara watched without turning her head. Only her eyes.
She saw she could run there. There, in her empty space. No one would say "no" for two steps. Two steps were nothing.
A half-smile slipped out and didn't reach her mouth. More a movement than a smile. As if her body were checking whether it still remembered.
The question came out crooked, almost tossed.
"Can I just run a little?"
The tutor looked at the ground first. Then at Elara. The answer came low, unhurried, and landed exactly where it should.
"Here is fine."
The "here" stayed between them, small and hard. Not a big word, yet it held Elara's body all the same.
She nodded too fast, before hearing the rest that didn't come.
Two steps.
Then two more.
She ran there.
A few strides. Out and back. A short mark on the ground. Air rushed in through her nose, left in a short breath. Her left foot struck harder. The right chased, trying to catch up.
She turned before reaching the path.
Turned again before touching the group.
A small circle, arm opening to keep balance. Her shirt rode up at the back. Hair stuck to her forehead.
She ran again.
Faster.
Her body wanted to lengthen the stride, throw the foot forward, let the wind hit her whole face—and the garden ended before it could happen. The wall arrived too soon. She turned.
The side of her chest pulled tight, like a line yanked fast. Air went short. She slowed without being told.
A tutor moved with her, tracing the run. Didn't cross. Didn't touch. Stayed in the right place—the place Elara would reach if she forgot the "here" for a second.
Elara ran once more.
Stopped on her own.
Hands on knees. Breathing loud in her ears.
"Hh… hhh…"
Short. Broken.
She straightened slowly, as if setting a thing back into place.
The garden stayed the same size.
The children stayed far off, crossing the path without thinking, making wide curves, brushing into one another like it was normal.
Elara looked at the space between her and the group.
Too wide to jump.
Too narrow to cross.
Her heart still shoved inside her chest, pounding as if it wanted to finish alone. Heat climbed the back of her neck. She wiped it quickly; her hand came back damp.
One step back.
Another.
She leaned against the stone again, finding the corner like a chair.
Wind passed fast, tangled her hair, and went to play with those who could run to the end.
Elara stayed.
Her body cooled little by little, inside and out, like water in a cup. The shadow fit her whole again when the sun shifted.
Later, she didn't try again.
She sat near the wall and scratched the dirt with her finger. Small lines. A crooked square. One mark over another. She wiped it away with her palm and drew again. Dirt clung to her skin, leaving a brown stain on her finger. She rubbed it on her shirt; the mark stayed, small, like proof.
A child ran too close, passed like wind, and was pulled back by name before reaching the corner. The body braked mid-step. Turned. Went away.
Elara watched the empty place that remained.
The sun sank without asking. Things turned more yellow, then longer, then lower. The garden grew large again, the way it always did when children were called one by one.
When they called to go inside, Elara stood without hurry.
The sole of her foot was dirty with earth. She scraped it once against the ground as if that would clean it. It didn't.
The corridor sealed the garden's sound behind her.
In the room, she sat on the bed with her legs hanging and rocked gently. The motion stopped on its own, halfway, as if held without touch.
She hadn't stopped playing.
She just couldn't go far.