Sheila’s POV
The door clicks shut behind him, and the sound seems to echo inside me longer than it should.
For a moment, I just stand there body trembling, legs barely steady, my back still pressed against the cold wall.
My breath comes in shallow, uneven bursts, and everything feels too loud. The ticking clock. The hum of the air conditioner. The wild rhythm of my own heart. Each sound digs into the quiet, filling the space he just left.
I slide down the wall slowly until I’m sitting on the floor, pulling my knees up against my chest. The tiles feel icy through my jeans, grounding me when nothing else can.
The air smells faintly of chalk and something else him. That same trace of cologne, the clean scent of his skin, the warmth that still clings to me like static. It’s everywhere
