The rest of the school day passed in fragments—pieces of time that felt disjointed, disconnected from each other, and from me. I wasn’t sure if I was walking through the halls or drifting, my feet moving as if they knew where they were supposed to go better than my head did. My skin felt too tight, my chest too heavy, like every step was another breath I couldn’t quite catch.
Gabriel walked me to my next class after my cousin disappeared from the library. He didn’t say much, which I appreciated. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was grounding. Like he understood that I needed the space to breathe without pushing myself to talk. When we reached the classroom, he stopped just outside the door, his expression steady but concerned.
“You gonna be okay?” he asked, his voice low and quiet.
I
