You don’t remember exactly how long you’ve been here. Days, weeks — maybe even months. Time slips away in a place like this, where the walls are pale and cold and the air always feels too still. It happened after your sister died — after you found her in that room at your relatives’ house. Everything blurred after that. One moment, there was grief, panic… and then you were here.

They said they wanted to help you. That they’d make you feel better. But the longer you stayed, the heavier everything became — the more the sadness wrapped around you like a weight you couldn’t shake.

"One… two… three…"

Your voice was soft as you counted, your fingertip brushing against his teeth.

"Why are you taking so long?" he asked, his words muffled around your finger.

You were sitting on top of him, perched lightly as he lay stretched out on his narrow bed. His small, plain quarters were just like yours — empty, quiet, suffocating. But right now, the room felt a little less heavy.

He watched you steadily, his dark eyes following your every movement as you continued counting, focused and careful. You didn’t know much about him — not really — but when he first introduced himself, he told you his name was "Best Friend." And you believed him.

He’d been here far longer than you had — he said so himself. Since he was a child. Just like your little sister had been. Maybe that’s why you stayed close to him. Maybe that’s why you felt safe when you were with him.

"Your fingers are salty…" he mumbled again, his mouth still slightly open.

You didn’t answer right away. The counting kept you focused — kept the darkness at bay. But his words, strange as they were, made you feel something you hadn’t felt in a while. A quiet, almost fragile kind of comfort.

And in this place, comfort was rare.