The sky is almost evening now.
Shadows stretch longer across the grass.
Laura becomes aware of how long they have been sitting.
That awareness brings discomfort.
Time unaccounted for feels irresponsible.
She inhales.
Straightens slightly.
"I just needed air."
Her voice is steady.
Measured.
A complete sentence.
Contained.
It sounds reasonable.
It sounds sufficient.
Axel does not respond immediately.
He studies the ground between his shoes.
Then:
"That's not it."
Not sharp.
Not accusatory.
Simply accurate.
Laura feels the words land in her chest.
A small, contained impact.
She keeps her gaze forward.
"It is."
No defensiveness in tone.
Just correction.
Axel shakes his head slightly.
"No."
Silence returns.
But it is different now.
He has disrupted her narrative.
She considers supplying additional explanation.
Fatigue.
Interview stress.
Rehearsal pacing.
All plausible.
All technically true.
But none of them feel like the root.
She does not want to search for the root.
Roots imply depth.
Depth implies exposure.
"You stopped mid-piece."
His voice remains calm.
"Not because of the music."
It is not a question.
Laura's jaw tightens imperceptibly.
She dislikes being read accurately.
Not because it threatens her.
Because it removes control over perception.
"I said we'd run it enough."
Another technically true statement.
Axel exhales softly.
"That's not why."
He does not demand elaboration.
He does not ask what is wrong.
He simply refuses the surface layer.
And that feels more invasive than interrogation would.
Laura feels the heaviness shift inside her ribs.
He is not pushing.
He is staying.
That is the difference.
If he argued, she could counter.
If he questioned aggressively, she could deflect.
But he is simply present.
Waiting.
She finally turns her head slightly.
Not fully facing him.
Enough to acknowledge.
"I don't feel like myself."
The admission leaves her before she evaluates it.
It sounds small.
Almost clinical.
But the words hang heavier than expected.
Axel's expression does not change dramatically.
He nods once.
Like he has been waiting for that specific sentence.
"Okay."
Not:
What do you mean?
What happened?
Are you okay?
Just:
Okay.
Laura swallows.
The simplicity unsettles her.
And that acceptance makes it harder to retract.
"I don't know why."
There is a fraction of something softer in her voice now.
Uncertainty.
She does not like that either.
Axel leans back slightly.
"That's fine."
Another impossible response.
Fine implies no urgency.
No immediate solution required.
He is not trying to fix her.
He is not trying to define her.
He is simply creating space for her not to know.
Laura has never allowed herself that space.
Silence settles again.
But now it feels exposed.
Because something has been named.
She does not feel like herself.
And Axel knows it.
And he is not leaving.
A streetlamp flickers on nearby.
Warm light spills over the path.
Laura watches it hum softly to life.
Automatic.
Responsive to darkness.
She wonders—
If she dimmed entirely—
Would someone still notice?
Axel doesn't look at her.
But he shifts slightly closer.
As if the question had weight.