The Shift
1091 Words
The morning felt heavier than it should have.
Sarah stood in front of the bathroom mirror, fingers resting against the edge of the sink, staring at her reflection a second longer than usual. The dark circles under her eyes weren’t dramatic, just faint shadows — but she noticed them.
Her shoulders felt tight.
Her jaw slightly sore from clenching through the night.
She had slept.
Technically.
But her body had never fully relaxed.
The transfer window sat open on her banking app.
She had not completed it.
The number glowed on the screen like a quiet ultimatum.
She locked her phone.
Not now....
She picked up her bag and left.
The clinic hallway smelled the same as always — antiseptic, paper, coffee drifting from reception. The routine should have felt relaxing.
Instead, everything seemed slightly sharper.
Too bright.
Too clear.
Her first session began at nine.
She sat across from her patient, hands folded loosely in her lap, posture steady, voice calm.
“You mentioned feeling cornered,” she said gently.
The word hit her unexpectedly.
Cornered...
Her chest tightened for half a second.
She inhaled smoothly and continued speaking, masking the flicker with professionalism.
The patient kept talking.
Sarah nodded at the right intervals.
But her focus wavered.
The sound of a chair scraping in the hallway made her shoulders tense instantly. The reaction was quick, involuntary. She forced herself to relax, adjusting her pen in her hand as if the movement had been deliberate.
No one noticed.
The session ended normally.
She wrote notes.
Her handwriting looked tighter than usual.
Smaller and Compressed.
By midday, exhaustion had begun to settle in.
Not physical tiredness.
Something heavier.
Like her nervous system hadn’t restarted.
A colleague laughed loudly near the reception desk, and the sound jolted through her chest. She looked up too quickly, breath catching for a second before she corrected herself.
You’re safe.
She repeated it silently.
You’re safe.
Her next patient described growing up in a tense household.
Shouting.
Unpredictability.
Sarah listened carefully.
Way too carefully.
Her throat tightened as the details unfolded.
The patient’s voice blurred slightly, not in sound, but in meaning. For a brief second, the room felt distant.
Her hands grew cold.
Her hearing narrowed.
She forced herself to blink and Focus.
She leaned forward slightly, grounding her elbows against her knees, anchoring herself to the present moment.
“Let’s pause,” she said gently. “What do you feel right now?”
The question was meant for the patient.
But part of her was asking herself.
The room returned gradually.
Edges sharpened again.
Her breathing slowed.
The session ended without incident.
But she knew.
Something inside her is very unstable.
She stepped outside in the early evening, she felt the cool air against her skin.
The parking lot looked ordinary.
Cars in uneven rows.
Light flickering from the far corner.
Her steps slowed unconsciously.
Her body recognized the space before her mind did.
Her pulse began to rise.
Her vision narrowed slightly as she approached her car.
That’s where he stood.
Last night.
The memory wasn’t visual.
It was physical.
Her stomach dropped.
Her breathing shortened.
She reached for the car handle but missed slightly, fingers brushing metal without gripping.
Her hand trembled.
She steadied it.
Inhale.
Exhale.
The air felt thinner.
Her ears rang faintly.
She leaned her palm against the car door, lowering her head slightly as if checking something in her bag.
She wasn’t.
She was trying not to collapse into the memory pressing against her ribs.
“You’re safe,” she whispered under her breath.
Her voice sounded distant.
Her knees felt weaker than they should.
Her body wanted to move.
Run.
Hide.
But there was nowhere to run to.
The parking lot remained silent.
Empty.
Her pulse thudded harder.
She closed her eyes briefly.
Count.
One.
Two.
Three.
The concrete beneath her shoes felt solid.
Real.
Not a hallway.
Not tile.
Not childhood.
Her breathing stuttered once more before gradually evening out.
Her fingers curled against the car door until sensation returned fully.
It took longer than she expected.
Longer than she liked.
She straightened slowly.
Opened the door.
Sat inside.
Her hands rested on the steering wheel for several seconds before she started the engine.
She didn’t look around.
Didn’t scan.
Didn’t check shadows.
She just drove.
Across the street, a black car remained parked with engine idling quietly.
Adrian stood near the front, speaking to Marco about something unrelated — shipment timing, a delayed contract, routine operations.
His posture was composed.
Steady.
Until his gaze shifted.
He wasn’t looking for her. He just came out of the meeting held opposite to her clinic.
He is having a moment of breath and listening what Marko was reporting.
But he saw her.
The way she stepped out of the clinic.
The way her stride lacked its usual rhythm.
She normally walked with awareness — scanning without appearing to.
Today, she didn’t.
She moved as if her focus was inward.
He watched as she approached her car.
Then stopped.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
She leaned against the door.
Head lowered.
Still.
Too still.
Marco followed his line of sight.
“She’s been steady all week,” Marco said casually.
Adrian didn’t respond.
Sarah’s hand missed the handle once.
A small detail.
But noticeable for him.
She remained there longer than necessary.
Not checking her phone.
Not adjusting anything.
Just… pausing.
Something shifted in Adrian’s posture.
Subtly.
A tightening of attention.
“She’s not walking the same,” he said quietly.
Marco studied her.
“She looks tired.”
Adrian didn’t answer.
He watched her shoulders rise and fall unevenly.
Watched her grip the door harder than normal.
Watched the fraction of delay before she entered the car.
Thats not obvious.. something is wrong. He thought
“She wasn’t like that yesterday,” Marco added.
“No,” Adrian said.
His voice remained calm.
But his focus sharpened completely.
Sarah finally entered the car.
Sat there.
Engine off.
Still sitting.
Then started it.
Drove away.
Adrian didn’t move.
Not immediately.
The silence between him and Marco thickened slightly.
“Want someone closer?” Marco asked.
Adrian’s gaze remained on the road where her car had disappeared.
“No.”
A pause.
Then—
“Find out what changed.” Adrian said while sitting in the car.
Marco nodded once.
The engine of their car started moments later.
Adrian didn’t look back at the clinic.
His expression remained composed.
But something had shifted.
And he didn’t like shifts he didn’t initiate.
- Writer
