These walls were my whole world.
The second month
Breakfast was quiet, as always.
But not cold.
The kind of quiet that felt like a familiar blanket—not heavy, just there.
Liana sat across from Elias, pushing a boiled egg around her plate.
She poked at the yolk with the tip of her spoon.
Didn't eat it.
Elias watched for a moment, then said casually, "Not a fan?"
She shook her head.
Then hesitated.
"I don't like egg yolks," she said.
It was her second full sentence since she'd arrived.
Elias blinked.
Then smiled—soft and amused, like he'd just found out she hated pineapple on pizza.
"Noted."
She thought that was it.
But then he took another bite of toast and said, like it was the most natural thing in the world:
"You know, if you're talking again… maybe we try something new today."
Liana looked up, cautious.
Waiting for the rest.
He sipped his coffee.
Calm. Casual.
"Like going out. Just for a bit."
Her fingers clenched slightly on the spoon.
No.
No, no, no.
"I don't need to go anywhere," she said quickly.
"Everyone needs shoes," Elias replied.
"I have shoes."
"You have one pair of shoes that don't fit."
He pointed to the corner of the room, where a battered pair of sneakers sat like exiled furniture.
"They hurt your feet every time you wear them. Don't they?"
She stared at him.
How did he know that?
She'd never said it.
Never winced out loud.
But of course he'd noticed.
He noticed everything.
Still, the thought of going outside made her stomach twist.
She didn't need shoes.
She didn't need anything.
She just wanted to stay here.
In this space.
With walls she could count on.
Elias didn't press.
"We'll just go to the closest mall," he said.
"In and out. Buy a pair and come back. Or," he added gently, "if you change your mind, we come back. No pressure."
There was a long silence.
She didn't nod right away.
Didn't move.
But her eyes flicked to the window.
Then back to him.
And after what felt like forever—
She nodded.
They drove.
The truck was quiet.
Not tense, but… contained.
Elias kept the music off.
Liana sat stiffly, hands folded in her lap, eyes locked on the dashboard.
She didn't speak.
Didn't fidget.
Didn't cry.
But her breathing was shallow.
And the second they pulled into the underground lot, she stopped blinking.
Elias parked.
Cut the engine.
Turned to her, waiting.
She didn't look at him.
Just unbuckled her seatbelt and got out.
So far, so good.
But the second they reached the surface level—
She stopped.
The noise hit her like a wall.
Cars honking.
People laughing.
A door slamming somewhere nearby.
Every sound felt too loud.
Every movement too fast.
She shrank back without meaning to.
Elias noticed.
Didn't speak.
Just shifted his position—stepping slightly in front of her as they walked, like a silent shield.
She followed closely.
Then someone brushed past them.
Not hard. Just close.
And before she even realized it—
Her hand had reached out.
Fingers curled tight into Elias's shirt.
She held on.
He looked down but didn't say a word.
Didn't move.
Didn't make her let go.
He just adjusted his pace.
They reached the shoe store in five minutes that felt like fifty.
She stayed behind him the whole time, barely visible.
He talked to the clerk.
Tried three sizes.
Kept her close, blocking her from view when anyone walked past.
No one touched her.
No one even came near.
But by the time they sat down for her to try the last pair—
Her shirt stuck to her back with sweat.
Her hands trembled slightly as she laced up the shoes.
She didn't cry.
Didn't complain.
But her eyes were red.
Elias knelt in front of her, checking the fit.
His fingers brushed her ankle.
She didn't flinch.
That was something.
He looked up.
She didn't meet his gaze.
She swallowed.
Then whispered, voice barely audible:
"…Can we go home now?"
It wasn't a plea.
Wasn't a demand.
Just a small, tired request from someone who had spent all her energy trying to stay whole.
And that was all it took.
Elias stood.
"We're done."
He paid without another word.
They walked back the same way.
Her hand found his shirt again.
She didn't let go until they reached the truck.
And even then, she hesitated.
Elias didn't say anything.
He opened the door.
Waited.
When they got home, she didn't eat lunch.
She went straight to her room and curled up on the bed.
Not crying.
Not shaking.
Just… still.
And when Elias passed by her door, he didn't knock.
He just left some food on the table.
With a post-it:
You did well. I'm proud of you.