It had been a few months since the surgery.
Not that it was anything drastic. The doctors said most of it had already been there—just hidden. Underdeveloped. I didn't need anything built, just... opened. Corrected, like they were peeling something back instead of putting something in. It wasn't about adding. It was about revealing.
Now I was just healing.
Or at least, trying to.
Everything about me felt softer. Quieter.
My skin reacted differently when things brushed against it. My mood shifted more often than I could explain. Sometimes I'd cry over songs or commercials, and sometimes I'd laugh at absolutely nothing and then feel stupid about it five minutes later. My chest hurt in the mornings, and I got cold easier.
It wasn't painful. Just weird. Quietly weird. Like I was turning into someone I didn't really know yet.
Why am I like this now? I feel like I'm glitching. One second I'm fine and then suddenly I'm sobbing over an ad.
I hadn't gone outside much since I moved in.
Aunt Clara's house felt like it belonged to someone who still believed in quiet afternoons and hand-written letters. The rugs were thick and soft and older than I was, the walls were covered in paintings of old streets and wildflower fields, and the clocks ticked just slow enough to remind you that time didn't care how you felt about it. It just kept going.
She was a history teacher at the academy I'd be starting in the fall, and the house felt like a place where nothing had been rushed in a long time. Books lined every shelf. Tea tins were labeled by century. And the silence never felt empty.
That morning, she knocked gently on the doorframe to the den.
"You up, sweetheart?"
I shifted under the quilt. "Kind of."
She stepped inside holding one of her favorite mugs—the one with blue violets around the rim. It smelled like lemon and something green.
"I made tea."
"Thanks."
She set it down beside me and looked at me in that way she always did right before asking something. Not pushy. Just patient.
"You feel up to company today?"
I hesitated. "Depends on who."
"She's a student at the academy. Selma. Dr. Serrano connected us."
Wait—what? She goes to the school? Why would Serrano think that's a good idea? What if she hates me later?
My stomach pulled tight. "Why?"
"She volunteers sometimes. Mentors. She wants to go into medicine. She's smart and grounded and kind. She's not coming to judge you, or ask questions, or do anything you don't want. She just thought it might be good for you to have someone to talk to."
I didn't answer.
Feels like a test. Like they want to see if I crack under pressure.
"You don't have to share anything if you don't want to," she added. "It's just a visit. You can talk, or not."
I didn't say yes. But I didn't say no.
Not long after, the doorbell rang.
I stayed curled up until Aunt Clara came back, with someone behind her.
The girl who stepped in was tall, with brown skin and a wide puff of curls tied back loosely. She wore a clean blouse and a navy skirt, but didn't seem like she was trying too hard. She looked around the room before meeting my eyes.
"This is Selma," Aunt Clara said.
"Hey," she said. "You must be Ely."
I gave a little nod.
Don't freeze. Just breathe. She's not here to hurt you. Probably.
"Mind if I sit?"
"Go ahead."
She took the chair across from me, easing into it like she was trying not to disturb the quiet. She didn't speak right away. Just glanced at the bookshelves and the windows, then back at me.
"This is a really peaceful house," she said. "Your aunt's got good taste. My place sounds like someone dropped a blender on top of a washing machine."
I didn't smile, but something eased a little in my chest.
"My brothers are chaos," she went on. "One thinks he's NBA-bound even though he's shaped like a desk chair. The other two are just... loud. Living with them is like being stuck inside a pinball machine."
That caught me off guard.
Okay. Not fake. That's something.
She kept going.
"I'm the quiet one. Always have been. I used to read under the table during family parties. Still kind of do."
I nodded.
"I want to go pre-med. Got a few things lined up already. Scholarships. Volunteer hours. It's expensive, and competitive, and most of the time I feel like I'm winging it."
She glanced at me again.
"I don't know what your doctor told you, but I'm not here to tell you I understand. I don't. I've never had to walk your road, and I'm not gonna pretend I've lived through what you're dealing with."
I didn't reply.
Thank God. Finally someone who doesn't start with 'I get it' and end with 'you're so brave.'
"But I do know what it's like to feel like you're not where you're supposed to be," she said. "To wake up and wonder how long you can pretend before someone calls you out."
That hit harder than I expected.
Yeah. That one's familiar.
"I hope we can be friends though," she said. "Even if it's just for a bit."
"Me too," I said. It came out before I even thought about it.
She smiled. Not big. Just real.
"So what are you into? Books? Games? Explosions?"
"Kind of all of that."
"Really?"
"I used to play a lot of games. Mostly solo stuff. Story-heavy. And I was always into sci-fi and fantasy. Knights. Laser swords. That kind of thing."
"That's awesome. I'm more into medical dramas, but honestly? I'd take dragons over interns any day."
I shrugged. "I don't know what I like anymore."
I try to remember the old stuff, but it feels far away now. Like it belonged to someone else.
She didn't answer right away. Just watched me for a second like she understood more than she let on.
"Is there anything you're looking forward to?" she asked.
I opened my mouth, then closed it. I shook my head.
"Not really."
That's bad, right? There should be something. Anything.
She didn't look disappointed. Just thoughtful. She leaned forward a bit, resting her hands on her knees.
"Okay... let's talk school."
I blinked. "What?"
"You're starting next term, right?"
"Yeah."
"You'll be fine. It's quiet. Uniforms are ugly. Classes are small. Most people mind their business. It's a good place to disappear for a while, if that's what you need."
"That's kind of what I want."
"Then you'll fit in."
"I don't want to stand out."
"You won't," she said. "You're just new. That's all."
"I don't know how to act."
"You don't have to. Just show up."
Yeah, well... showing up hasn't worked great for me lately.
She stood up slowly and brushed off her skirt.
"I'll be around. Your aunt knows how to find me. If you ever want to talk, hang out, scream into a pillow—I'm pretty good at all three."
"Thanks," I said. And I meant it.
Aunt Clara walked her to the door and came back a minute later, sitting next to me with a cookie in her hand. She passed it to me and gave my shoulder a light squeeze.
I took it without a word.
For the first time in months, I didn't feel like I was bracing for something.
I don't know if I'm safe yet... but I didn't want her to leave. That's new.