The Things We Never Said: Chapter 1

The corridor outside the room was unnaturally quiet, the kind of silence padded by thick carpets and closed doors, where even footsteps seemed to lose their purpose before reaching the end of the hall. Behind the glass wall of the private room, a nine-year-old boy lay propped against pale pillows, dressed in a soft blue patient’s outfit that hung loosely on his slight frame, as though it did not quite belong to him.

It was already eleven.

Outside, the night had folded in on itself, the moon swallowed by low, drifting clouds, leaving only the steady rain to bear witness. Droplets slid down the glass in slow, uneven trails, merging and separating as they travelled, and the boy followed their path with a distant, unfocused gaze. He blinked occasionally, his dark eyes reflecting the movement of water rather than any thought behind them, his expression blank, unreadable, as though whatever he had left to feel was resting somewhere far beyond reach.

The quiet was broken by the soft click of the door.

He reacted at once, his gaze shifting towards the sound, though his body remained still, confined to the bed. A woman stepped inside, closing the door behind her with deliberate care. Her movements were practised and unhurried, the kind born from long hours spent in rooms like this, where voices were kept low and gestures measured. She approached the bedside, her presence neither intrusive nor distant, simply there.

“It’s already eleven,” she said gently, her voice calm, steady, carrying no trace of impatience. “You should rest now.”

The boy nodded, obedient and wordless.

She adjusted the bed with quiet efficiency, helping him lie back properly before pulling the blanket up over his thin shoulders, smoothing it down as if to anchor him in place. Only once she was certain he was settled did she step away, taking a seat on the blue three-seater couch against the wall, close enough to be seen, close enough to be reached if needed.

The boy stared at the ceiling, tracing nothing, thinking nothing that could be named. A single tear escaped the corner of his eye, sliding silently down his cheek, unnoticed by anyone but the room itself. He did not wipe it away. Instead, he closed his eyes, his lashes trembling slightly as he forced himself into stillness, into sleep, as though rest were another instruction he had to follow.

The rain continued to fall outside, indifferent and endless.

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