Each day felt longer than the last. When night came, the quiet grew heavier, and the loneliness settled in.
That was when she appeared.
The Girl Who Came Each Night
Almost every evening, usually when the hallway grew quiet, a young girl would come into my room. She looked to be around thirteen or fourteen, with dark hair she kept tucking behind her ears. Her face was young, but her eyes held a seriousness that felt far older.
Ezoic
She never made noise when she arrived. She would pull a chair close to my bed and sit down as though she belonged there, hands folded neatly in her lap.
I could not speak, could not ask her name or why she came, yet she seemed to understand my silence.
Ezoic
Sometimes she leaned close and whispered softly, careful not to disturb anything around us.
“Be strong,” she said one night. “You’ll smile again.”
