Episode 3: The Girl on the Swing
978 Words
The garden was not meant to be entered.
Everyone knew that.
The tall iron gates at the back of the estate were always locked, the hedges trimmed too perfectly, the paths too clean—as if untouched by anything real. It was a place designed for appearances, not for wandering.
Not for children.
And certainly not for *him*.
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He had learned the rules early.
Stay inside.
Stay quiet.
Stay unseen.
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But rules had a way of losing meaning when silence became unbearable.
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That afternoon, the house felt suffocating.
Voices echoed faintly down the hallway—his father speaking to someone again. A doctor, most likely. Another one. They came and went, carrying the same careful expressions and scripted concern.
*He needs structure.*
*He needs supervision.*
*He needs to be evaluated—properly.*
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He needed to get out.
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The decision wasn’t sudden.
It was quiet.
Like everything else about him.
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He waited.
Counted the footsteps.
Listened for the closing of doors, the shift of voices moving farther away.
Then, slowly, he slipped through the side corridor, past the unused rooms and shadowed corners no one bothered to check.
His hand brushed the cold surface of the back door.
For a second—
He hesitated.
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Not out of fear.
But because something in him understood—
Once he stepped outside, something would change.
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The door creaked softly as it opened.
The air rushed in.
Warmer than he expected.
Alive.
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He stepped out.
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The garden stretched before him, quiet and deceptively peaceful. Sunlight filtered through the trees, scattering across the ground in broken patterns. Somewhere in the distance, leaves rustled gently, carried by a slow afternoon breeze.
It should have felt calming.
It didn’t.
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Because then—
He heard it.
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A faint, rhythmic sound.
Soft.
Repetitive.
Almost… musical.
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*Creak…*
*Pause.*
*Creak…*
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His head tilted slightly.
Listening.
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The sound came from deeper within the garden.
Near the old oak tree—the one no one ever mentioned, though it stood there as if it had been watching the house long before anyone lived in it.
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He moved toward it.
Carefully.
Each step deliberate, almost soundless against the gravel path.
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And then—
He saw her.
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The swing hung from one of the oak’s thick branches, its ropes worn but steady. It moved gently back and forth, cutting through the air with a slow, steady rhythm.
And on it—
Sat a girl.
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She wasn’t laughing.
Wasn’t smiling.
Wasn’t even looking around.
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She just… *swung.*
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Forward.
Back.
Forward.
Back.
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As if the world around her didn’t exist.
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His steps slowed.
Then stopped entirely.
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There was something wrong.
He couldn’t explain it.
Couldn’t name it.
But he felt it immediately—
The same way he felt things before they happened.
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Her dress was light, catching the breeze with each movement. Strands of her hair slipped free, brushing against her face, but she didn’t push them away.
Didn’t react.
Didn’t seem to care.
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She looked—
Perfectly still.
Despite moving.
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His chest tightened slightly.
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He had seen children before.
He knew what they looked like when they played.
When they laughed.
When they *felt* things.
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She didn’t look like that.
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She looked like something placed there.
Something observing.
Something waiting.
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The swing slowed.
Gradually.
Until it came to a near stop.
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For a moment, everything was quiet.
The wind stilled.
The leaves held their breath.
Even the light seemed to hesitate.
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Then—
Without turning—
She spoke.
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“You’ve been standing there for a while.”
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His fingers curled slightly.
Not surprised.
Just… attentive.
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“I know,” he replied.
His voice was calm.
Flat.
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A pause.
Then—
Slowly—
She turned her head.
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Their eyes met.
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And in that instant—
Something unfamiliar passed between them.
Not recognition.
Not curiosity.
Not even fear.
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Something deeper.
Something quieter.
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Something that felt like two broken pieces noticing each other—
for the first time.
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Her gaze lingered.
Studying.
Measuring.
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“You’re not supposed to be here,” she said.
Not as a question.
As a fact.
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“Neither are you.”
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A flicker.
Barely visible.
But it was there.
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The corner of her lips shifted—
not quite a smile.
Not quite anything human.
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“I come here when I want to be alone.”
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He stepped closer.
One step.
Then another.
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“I don’t mind,” he said.
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The words were simple.
But they carried something else beneath them.
Something unspoken.
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*I don’t mind you.*
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The swing moved again.
Slightly.
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“You don’t talk like other people,” she said.
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“Neither do you.”
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Silence stretched between them again.
But this time—
It wasn’t empty.
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It was… comfortable.
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For the first time in a long while—
He didn’t feel like leaving.
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And for the first time—
She didn’t feel like chasing anything that could fly away.
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Because this—
Whatever this was—
Wasn’t trying to escape.
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Her fingers tightened around the rope of the swing.
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“What’s your name?”
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He looked at her.
Really looked.
Memorizing.
Every detail.
Every line.
Every shadow.
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Then answered—
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“…I’ll tell you if you tell me yours first.”
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Another pause.
Another shift.
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Then—
Quietly—
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“Lana.”
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The name settled into him.
Deep.
Permanent.
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He repeated it softly, as if testing how it felt.
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“Lana…”
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And somewhere, far above them—
A bird took flight.
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But this time—
She didn’t chase it.
- Writer
