Laura does not choose a direction.
Her feet do.
Out of the building.
Down the familiar pavement.
Past the bakery with the chipped blue sign.
Axel is half a step behind her.
Not leading.
Not lagging.
Matching.
They do not speak.
The absence of conversation does not feel strained.
It feels… neutral.
Laura listens to the sound of her own steps.
Measured.
Even.
She focuses on that.
If she can maintain rhythm, she can maintain control.
A bus passes.
Wind lifts her hair slightly.
She doesn't react.
She is aware of Axel's presence without looking.
The subtle shift of weight when he adjusts stride.
The soft scrape of his shoe against gravel.
He is not asking questions.
He is not offering solutions.
He is simply there.
Laura registers this as data.
He did not hesitate to follow.
He did not ask permission.
He assumed proximity was acceptable.
And she did not correct him.
That is new.
They cross at the light.
Laura realizes she has not checked the signal.
She rarely forgets logistics.
The light is green.
Axel glances once at her, then forward again.
No commentary.
Her thoughts feel… slightly delayed.
Like hearing her own voice echo half a second after speaking.
She catalogues it clinically.
Mild dissociation?
No.
Overthinking.
Fatigue.
Likely fatigue.
The pavement gives way to gravel.
Park entrance.
She does not remember deciding to come here.
Yet the familiarity does not surprise her.
It is the closest open space.
Open space implies air.
Air implies reset.
Logical.
Children's laughter in the distance.
A dog barking.
Wind in trees.
Laura notes the lack of metronomic structure.
No consistent tempo here.
Just irregular rhythm.
Uncontrolled.
It should bother her.
It does not.
Axel adjusts his pace slightly when she slows.
He does not look at her.
He does not rush ahead.
He simply mirrors.
Synchronization without instruction.
Their bodies understand what their mouths do not need to say.
Laura's steps begin to shorten.
Not consciously.
Just incrementally.
Her shoulders loosen by degrees.
She inhales deeper than she has all day.
It feels unfamiliar.
Not dramatic.
Just unfamiliar.
They reach a clearing.
A bench beneath a tree.
She stops.
Not because she planned to.
Because forward motion feels unnecessary.
She sits.
Back straight at first.
Hands folded loosely in her lap.
Axel waits half a beat.
Then sits beside her.
Not too close.
Not distant.
Enough space to breathe.
Enough proximity to remain.
They do not speak.
The silence stretches.
It does not fracture.
It simply exists.
For the first time since closing the piano lid—
Laura does not feel observed.
She feels accompanied.
And she does not yet know what to do with that.
A breeze shifts the leaves above them.
Laura watches shadows move across the ground.
Irregular.
Uncontrolled.
And for once—
She does not attempt to correct the rhythm.