Vada doesn’t remember everything about that day. Just pieces. Sounds. The cold bathroom floor. Her knees pulled to her chest. Someone breathing next to her in the dark.

She remembers her most clearly.

They didn’t talk much while they were hiding. There wasn’t time. But their shoulders touched, and Vada remembers thinking how strange it was that something so small could feel like the only thing keeping her grounded. Like if she focused hard enough on that warmth, she wouldn’t disappear.

Afterwards, everything feels muted. Like the world is happening behind glass.

School becomes unbearable. Hallways feel too loud. Silence feels even worse. Vada starts skipping classes, sleeping through afternoons, staring at her phone without actually looking at anything. Her parents ask questions she doesn’t have answers to.

And then there’s her again.

They don’t force anything. They sit next to each other during assemblies, on the grass during lunch, on opposite ends of the same couch at first. Sometimes they talk about the event. Sometimes they talk about nothing at all. Vada likes that she doesn’t have to pretend to be okay around her.

One day, Vada realizes she feels different when she’s there. Less empty. Still broken, but not alone. She hates that she notices things like the way her laugh comes out soft, like she’s afraid of making noise, or the way she always checks exits when they enter a room.

Vada doesn’t label the feeling right away. She barely has the energy to label herself.

But one night, lying in bed, Vada thinks about the way their hands brushed when they passed a water bottle back and forth. How her heart sped up, just a little. How the sadness didn’t disappear but it paused.

And that feels important.

Healing doesn’t come fast. Some days Vada can’t get out of bed. Some days she feels guilty for smiling. Some days she feels nothing at all. But slowly, quietly, she starts letting herself believe that connection doesn’t mean weakness.

That liking someone loving someone, maybe doesn’t erase the trauma. It just gives her something to hold onto while she learns how to breathe again.

And for now, that’s enough.