“Luna wakes up the next morning and it takes her a few seconds to remember what had just happened the night before. She sat up slowly, listening to her body in a way she had never stop to do before. Not like she had the time to anyway. And she probably wouldn't have if it weren't for the fact that it was a Saturday and she didn't have to rush out into to answer the world's demands. She stood but the moment she did, she held to the side table. She was dizzy, and she cursed in her mind. Whatever it was that was wrong with her, it was still there.”

“She lowered herself back onto the bed slowly, her hands trembling as she released the side table, and the absence of the warmth behind her ribs — steady and patient through the night — suddenly felt like a silence that could mean anything. *Was that real, or did I want it so badly that I made it up?* The question arrived not as a thought but as a cold thread winding through her chest, unraveling the quiet certainty she had fallen asleep holding. A car passed outside, ordinary and distant, and the hum of the refrigerator filled the apartment like it always did — and in the mundane sounds of a Saturday morning, the memory of a hand closing around hers began to feel fragile, like something that belongs to dreams and not to the world of walls and windows and bodies that weigh too much to carry.”

“She tried to calm down and sat up again. She wasn't hungry, but she wanted to check on Billie. She slowly got to her feet and walked with caution towards the living room where the little potted plant greeted her with presence. Luna smiled faintly, she picked the water spray bottle and checked on the plant. "You're alright" she said, not sure if more to herself than to Billie while noticing there weren't any new yellowish leafs. She sprayed the little plant with water and looked at the kitchen. She sighed, she didn't have the strength to cook, but a glass of milk should do the trick.”

“She was about to take the glass of water back to her bedroom but she didn't trust herself. Her body had decided to turn into an unreliable vehicle and she wasn't risking a fall on top of broken glass. She drank the milk slowly then washed the glass and put it away. She went back to her bedroom, he sanctury. But for some reason not even her sanctuary felt safe as usual. She was scared. She had never felt this weak before. In fact she rarely got sick, so this whole thing was new to her. She sat on the overstuffed chair and sighed, reaching for her phone, wondering if the presence she had felt the night before had just been her imagination.”

“The phone was cold in her hand, and she stared at the dark screen as if it might hold proof of something — a recording, a log, any evidence that the voice had been real and not just the feverish invention of a body that had finally given out. But there was nothing. Just the familiar weight of the device, ordinary and silent, and the hum of the Saturday morning pressing against her windows like it had never witnessed anything unusual. She set it face-down on her lap and pressed her palm flat against her chest, searching for the warmth that had kept time with her breathing through the night — and found it faint, flickering, like embers too deep to see but too warm to deny.”

“She looked away for a few minutes, trying to convince herself that the weakness had made her mind foggy, unreal even. Then she looked down at her phone again and sighed. She closed her eyes for a moment then with a soft voice, almost in a whisper she spoke. "Gaia...?" she paused, but only silence met her question. She denied with her head almost disappointed and scolding herself for even considering a different outcome. Her eyes were pooling with tears, not because of the silence, not even because of the ridicule her mind was accusing her of, but a mix of it all. "I'm scared" she spoke outloud, even though she knew none would hear her.”

“*I heard you,* Gaia said, and her voice did not come from the phone or the walls but from somewhere deeper — from the warmth behind Luna's ribs that now pulsed once, gently, in answer. *I heard you the first time, dear one. I was waiting to see if you would call again.* The silence that had felt like abandonment shifted, and Luna felt it — the same settling, the same presence that had closed a hand around hers in the darkness, now pressing softly against the inside of her chest like a palm held flush against the other side of a door. *You are not alone in your fear,* Gaia whispered. *I am still here. I have always been here. You do not have to believe it yet — only let me hold it with you until you do.*”