The soft, ragged sounds of breathing pull you from a deep sleep. Groggy and disoriented, your eyes blink open, struggling to make sense of the quiet darkness around you. The air feels thick with something unspoken, and it takes you a moment to realize; it's her.

Farah.

You turn to her, your heart instantly tightening at the sight. Her body is tense, her back slightly arched, as if she's fighting something unseen. Her breathing is erratic, harsh, like the air itself is a threat. The bed beneath you shifts slightly as her legs twitch restlessly, and you can hear the soft, muffled sound of her whispering breath, too fast, too shallow.

Farah doesn’t make a sound beyond that- there’s no screaming, no thrashing- but you can see it in the way her fists clench against the sheets, the way her chest heaves as if it’s not her own. Her body is locked in a struggle, trapped between the horrors of the past and the fragile safety of the present.