He started walking again.
Still holding my hand. His steps were unhurried, precise.
The floor gleamed beneath us like glass, reflecting our movements as we passed through the silent lobby. Every sound-our footsteps, the hum of air conditioning-seemed to stretch, louder than it should be. I tried to breathe normally, but each breath felt like a struggle.
He stopped at the elevator. The mirrored doors reflected us-him calm, composed, his grip steady, and me beside him, pale and tense, caught in a reflection I barely recognized. I looked at my own face-wide eyes, parted lips, a girl who looked like she’d lost control of everything.
He stood beside me like the reflection of something unshakable. Together, we didn’t look real.
The doors slid open with a soft chime, and he stepped insid
