Part 133
The walls were white. Too white. They hummed faintly with the sterile chill of order — a place that pretended to fix broken things.
Aura sat on the narrow bed by the window, tracing a finger across the condensation on the glass. Beyond it, she could see a strip of sky — flat, pale, endless. Every morning it looked the same, but she watched it anyway.
Time here didn't move. It dissolved.
They called it a rehabilitation center.
She called it the waiting room.
Waiting for what, she didn't know.
Maybe for him.
The doctors said her obsession was a "symptom of trauma." That she had blurred the line between love and control. They spoke gently, like one speaks to a wounded animal. Sometimes she listened. Sometimes she laughed.
Because they didn't understand — she never wanted to hurt him. She wanted to protect him.
From the noise. From the fake smiles. From a world that would eat him alive just to taste his fame.
Her hands clenched at the thought.
They'd taken him back to that world.
The one she pulled him from.
When she dreamed — and she dreamed often — she saw him again: barefoot in her kitchen, eyes soft from sleep, the faintest smile playing on his lips when he said her name. In dreams, he was calm. Safe. Hers.
But in the waking hours, she could feel him slipping away.
Back into the cameras, the crowds, the chaos.
So, she began writing. At first, the letters were short — a few sentences on the lined paper the staff gave her. Then they became longer, more intricate. Each one addressed to him. Each one folded carefully, sealed, and hidden under her pillow.
They don't let me send them, Adrian. But I know you'll hear me somehow.
You always do.
And sometimes, she thought she heard his voice in return — faint through the hum of the fluorescent lights.
Or saw his shadow in the reflection of the glass.
She smiled at that.
Because even if the world thought she was gone, forgotten, and locked away — love didn't vanish. It waited. It adapted.
And somewhere, beyond these white walls, she knew Adrian could still feel it too.