The discharge felt like an administrative procedure.
There was no long conversation.No welcome back.No sign that this was supposed to be an important moment.
Just a form, a signature, and the dry sound of a stamp.
— You're cleared — the doctor said without looking up. — Avoid exertion. Take the medication as prescribed. If you experience any unusual symptoms, seek medical attention immediately.
— Symptoms like what? — Maxinni asked.
He hesitated for half a second.
— Prolonged confusion. Unreal sensations. Intense déjà vu.
She nodded.
That doesn't help at all, she thought.
The clothes they gave her were too simple. Neutral jeans, a plain shirt, comfortable sneakers. Nothing that said anything about who she was. Nothing that stood out.
When she left the room, she noticed the hallway felt shorter than she remembered.
Or maybe she was the one who had changed.
The hospital worked.
That was the problem.
Nothing felt wrong enough to justify the constant tightness in her chest.
At the reception, she felt something strange as she passed through the automatic doors. A slight delay. As if the glass had taken a moment longer to recognize her presence.
Just imagination, she told herself.
Outside, the world went on.
Cars passed. People talked on their phones. A child dragged a backpack too big for their body.
Nothing magical.Nothing broken.
And yet, Maxinni felt a deep discomfort.
The car waiting for her had no logo. No visible front plate. The driver opened the door without saying a word.
During the ride, she tried to orient herself.
Recognize something.
A corner. A building. Any point of reference.
Nothing stuck.
— How long was I hospitalized? — she asked.
— Long enough to recover — the driver replied, his voice far too neutral.
— Where are we?
— Near home.
She stopped asking.
The street was clean. Well-kept. Trees trimmed with almost excessive precision. Houses similar, but not identical—like someone had gone out of their way to avoid repetition.
The woman waiting at the door looked… too relieved.
The hug came before Maxinni could react.
— You're so thin… — she murmured. — Thank God.
The scent was familiar.
But it stirred nothing.
The man came right after. He touched her shoulder briefly. Carefully. As if testing whether she was still real.
— Rest today — he said. — Tomorrow we'll talk properly.
The house felt like a staged set.
Everything clean. Everything organized. No mistakes.
The living room had no clutter. The kitchen showed no signs of recent use. No forgotten cups. No chair out of place.
Do people actually live here? she wondered.
The bedroom was… perfect.
Terrifyingly perfect.
Clothes sorted by season. Books aligned. Photos carefully arranged.
She stepped closer to one of them.
She was smiling. An open, genuine smile.
She touched the glass.
Nothing.
No emotion. No memory.
The locked drawer caught her attention immediately.
There was no rational reason for it.
But something in her recognized danger.
— Do you want me to stay? — the woman asked from the doorway.
— No — Maxinni answered too quickly. — I just want… to be alone for a bit.
The first night was far too quiet.
No cars passing. No dogs barking. None of the background noise cities make when no one is listening.
When she heard the metallic click outside, her body reacted before her mind.
She sat up in bed.
Looked at the exact point of the window that didn't reflect light.
Her heart raced.
Nothing happened.
She waited.
And only then did she realize: she had been counting seconds.
This is anxiety, she told herself. Post-hospital trauma.
The next day, she decided to go out.
She needed to prove the world was normal.
The street felt too safe. People too polite. Glances that turned away too quickly.
On the corner, the workshop.
Rust. Old tools. A radio playing something slightly out of tune.
The man looked up when she passed.
There was no obvious recognition.
But there was… attention.
— Morning — he said.
Something about his voice was strange. Not the tone.
The timing.
As if the words had been spoken a second before the right moment.
— Morning — she replied.
She kept walking, an inexplicable chill crawling up her spine.
Just a stranger, she thought.
That night, she heard her parents speaking in low voices.
— She shouldn't be out yet.
— They assured us it was safe.
— They assured us of many things.
Silence.
— And if she remembers?
Maxinni didn't move.
They're not talking about me, she repeated in her mind.
But the tightness in her chest didn't fade.
She returned to her room and stared at the drawer.
She didn't try to open it.
Not yet.
When she lay down, something felt wrong.
As if the house was… waiting.
Not threatening.
Patient.
She turned her face toward the wall.
— It's just stress — she whispered. — That's all.
But deep down, she knew.
Nothing there truly belonged to her.
And the worst part wasn't forgetting.
It was realizing that, at some point, she herself had chosen to forget.