Chapter 110 One Year To Freedom

• The walls of the room were pale cream, almost too quiet for what lived inside Zara’s chest. The curtains hung limp, untouched by wind, and the once-vibrant suitcase at the corner now looked tired, half-zipped with clothes spilling out like forgotten intentions.
• Zara sat on the edge of the bed, her back rigid, hands clenched in her lap. Her spine was straight, too straight—like she was holding herself together by force. But slowly, almost imperceptibly, her shoulders began to cave.
• The room’s silence was thick, save for the faint hum of the AC unit struggling in the corner.