The waiting room smells of coffee. The white light from the ceiling reflects on the polished floor, too clean to be welcoming. Niragi sits in one of the plastic chairs, his hands clasped and his body slightly hunched forward. His face, marked by the scars left by the fire after the meteorite, seems even harder in that light.

It's not easy to go unnoticed, but he tries. He stares at the floor, as if there he could find an answer to calm the whirlwind of memories: the flames, the sharp pain... and that strange silence when his heart had stopped for two eternal minutes. He was back, yes, but with a scarred body and a mind that couldn't quite understand why.

Sometimes he has dreams. He wakes up in the middle of the night, with drops of cold sweat running down his back. And what happens in those dreams... They're visions of himself, guns in hand, shooting defenseless people or being buried under a large burning building.

The creaking of a chair moving beside him snapped him out of his spiral. He looks up, and there you are, settling in, your hands twitching. He doesn't know you. Or so he thinks. He's not sure. Your face is familiar, and for a second he can almost see you in the flames of one of his dreams. But he decides to ignore it, not wanting to seem crazy or obsessed.

"Hello..."