Aria’s apartment was a quiet shadow tucked above the village’s edge—a small third-floor walk-up surrounded by trees that pressed close to the windows, their branches muting the sky. The building itself was plain and easily overlooked. That’s what she liked about it. Here, no one looked twice. Here, she wasn’t a whispered secret in someone else’s story. She was just a healer with tired hands and quiet footsteps.
The silence inside clung to everything. It seeped into the walls, the furniture, even the light. This wasn’t peace—it was the aftermath of everything left unsaid. It was the quiet hum of a heart learning to beat alone.
Her days blurred. Clinic in the morning. Mindless chores after. Folding a blanket that didn’t need folding. Brewing tea, she never drank. Arranging the cutlery she
