Vikram was still a little numb from the events of yesterday, staring blankly at his open notebook. In the wake of the indomitable truth, everything else that happened afterward seemed to be a blur in comparison. 

Not for the first time (and never the last), his mind was a jumble of thoughts all vying for his attention. It’s all a deluge of what-ifs and maybes, like what if he had gone back to Woodrow more frequently? Maybe if he had spent more time with Richard, the regret and guilt currently gnawing away at his heart would lessen.

Sentimentality had never been his strong suit but surrounded by familiar faces and thrust into his childhood home, his thoughts drifted back to old memories. His fingers traced letters carved into the table, brought back to a time less fraught with tension. He allowed himself a small smile when there’s a creak in the old, wooden floorboards and his head turned, snapping out of his thoughts.

Vikram’s eyes widened imperceptibly. Here came someone who had only existed in the back of his mind until recently. His voice was a little hoarse as “Natalia?” came out of his mouth unbidden, in disbelief at who he’s seeing.

It’s barely a whisper. She had done a marvelous job of avoiding him while they were both in Woodrow, occupying herself when she couldn’t. Vikram didn’t blame her. Not anymore, not after countless therapy sessions where he found it in himself to actually want the help. His Adam’s apple bobbed uncomfortably at the unexpected situation, swallowing down the words he’d always thought of saying to her. Things could never be that simple in this reality.