As soon as we returned behind the wall, I didn't see that boy for many days. We didn't exchange a single word, and neither of us tried to look for the other. I think we were both trying to run away from each other. I didn't even leave the house; I spent my days locked in my room, endlessly thinking about the words he said to me that night.
I tried to convince myself that everything he said was nonsense, just lies meant to justify what he'd done. But the more I replayed that moment in my head, the more doubt began to creep in, little by little. Back then, it didn't seem like he was lying.
One night, while everyone was asleep, I sneaked out of my room. The door leading to my father's office was locked, but the key was in its usual spot above the wooden frame. I unlocked the door, stepped inside, and entered quietly.
The room was filled with moonlight seeping through the curtains, and the smell of ink hung in the air.
