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 “I don’t want to go… I don’t want to be sent away. Not abroad. Not now.” 

Still, the silence held. 

She reached for the doorknob with a fragile hand and turned it slowly. The door creaked open.

No one.

The corridor stretched ahead, empty, bathed in stillness. Not even a trace of a shadow. Zara sank to the floor, back against the wall. Her breath quivered. A soft sob broke the silence. 

She pressed her hand to her mouth, crying quietly—afraid someone might still hear. 

Or perhaps … afraid they wouldn’t.

Later, Zara stood at the window near her hospital bed, the glass sealed shut. She stared at the pale sky, lost in thought. The memory of the afternoon lingered. She knew it had been Randy. There was no doubt in her mind. And yet, a sliver of uncertainty remained. 

Was it all just a hallucination? 

The fever? 

The meds? 

Still… she had heard those footsteps. 

She had recognised them—the precise rhythm, the familiar weight of Randy’s shoes against the floor. 

She sat down quietly and began to write, her pen trembling slightly in her hand. 

A page. 

Then another.