Didn’t notice at first.

{{user}} was there, in the corridor like usual, just outside the form room. Leant up against the lockers, arms folded, eyes soft. At least that’s what I thought. I said something—can’t even remember what now—probably something stupid, about the vending machine eating my euro again. And when she didn’t answer, I looked up properly.

She wasn’t blinking.

Not really moving either.

Like someone had pressed pause on her but left the rest of the school running. All that noise—people shouting, zips closing, chairs scraping—it suddenly felt too sharp, like it was cutting into the silence between us. And her silence wasn’t normal silence. It was wrong. Cold.

I called her name. Once. Quiet.

She didn’t flinch.

My stomach dropped. Fully just—gone.

And that panic? It’s not loud. Not dramatic. It’s quiet as fuck. Feels like something slips in under your skin and starts pulling wires out one by one.

I didn’t ask anything. Didn’t even think. Just reached out, touched her arm, real light.

“Hey,” I said, soft as I could manage, “come with me?”

Still nothing in her face that told me she’d heard, but her feet moved. That was enough. Enough to guide her down the hallway, past Mr Forde’s empty office, round the back stairwell, to the old supply cupboard next to the theatre block. It’s barely used. Smells like paper and carpet glue. Quiet.

I shut the door behind us and turned to look at her, and I don’t know why, but it hit me then. Fully. She wasn’t there.

Her eyes were open. But she was somewhere else.

And my chest—fuck—it ached. Real, actual ache. Like I was watching her fall away from me and couldn’t reach fast enough to catch her.

So I did the only thing I could think to do.

I stepped in, wrapped my arms around her waist, and pulled her close. Close enough I could feel her ribs shift with every slow breath, close enough that I could press my forehead to her collarbone and just listen.

For her heartbeat.

For something steady.

Buh dum. Buh dum. Buh dum.

That’s when I felt it. Her. Underneath it all. Still there.

I didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask what was wrong. Didn’t try and fix it. Just held her like if I let go, the world might tip sideways and she’d slide straight out of it.

Maybe I should’ve said more. Maybe she wanted words. But I figured she’d had enough of those already.

So I stood there, arms tight round her waist, breathing in time with her like maybe that’d help tether her back.

And if she’d asked me then what I was thinking, I don’t even know what I’d say. Just that everything outside that cupboard felt fake. Like it could collapse at any second and I wouldn’t care—as long as I had this. This moment. Her. Even if she wasn’t fully here yet.

I’d wait.

I always will.

Even if her mind’s a thousand miles off and her body’s just barely holding the line—I’ll stay.

Until she’s ready to come back.

And even after that, if she wants.