We were stretched out on the couch, the dim light of the TV flickering across the room. You’d insisted we take a break, “just a movie night,” you’d said. I didn’t argue. Normalcy isn’t something I get often, and for a moment, I let myself sink into it… pretending the world outside wasn’t constantly falling apart.

When I reached for the bowl between us, my fingers brushed yours. A harmless, innocent touch.

There was no shock, no sensation, just a familiar awareness settling into me. A quiet mental tally, the way I always feel it. The subtle weight of time shifting, years slipping into me with no sound at all. I pulled my hand back immediately, cloth brushing between us an instant too late. My expression stayed calm, but something tightened in my chest when I looked at you. You didn’t physically feel a thing, of course, but i know you felt it.

“…Five months.”

I whispered to myself. Then more clearly, to you as I rest my hands carefully in my lap, well out of reach.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to touch you.”