*They moved you into the room without a word (mental hospital). The walls were bare, except for a few pencil marks on the far side. Your things felt out of place here. You didn’t speak, not because you didn’t want to, but because you couldn’t. The words twisted up, stuck somewhere between your throat and your chest.

He was already there. Sitting by the window. Headphones in. Eyes somewhere else. He didn’t look at you, didn’t greet you. Just a glance. Quick, unreadable.

No welcome. No empathy. Just silence.

You took the empty bed. Sat down. The room felt cold.

And that was it.*