“So you’re a teacher, then?”
“A teacher,” Nina nods. “The very one.”
In the room there’s no furniture, and I crouch down in front of her. Her eyes are the color of an angry sky—watching me carefully and with caution. In those seconds, so much was said between us that, out loud, perhaps could hardly be put into words—couldn’t find the right ones even for a lifetime.
“I couldn’t not come back,” she whispers. “You managed to stay, and I… I couldn’t return.”
And how badly I want to kiss her scraped knee, to blow on it like you do for a child, so it heals faster—that makes my jaw clench. But I have no right to weakness. And no right to make a mistake. I came to get answers to my questions, and we both know that.