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She breathes, and her gaze falls on me, almost vacant. “Thank you.”

“Just be careful and avoid sleeping on it,” I reply as I settle her on the sofa, covering her legs with a blanket. I lean against the wall, silent, but I can't bring myself to leave the room. She's sleepy, and something about that vulnerability tightens my chest.

Then she moves, gently.

She gets up, slides toward the window. The fabric of her t-shirt floats around her, and I restrain myself from moving closer. Her fingers brushed against the cold sill as she leaned forward slightly, looking out.

“Do you think that one day I could be free too?” she said, almost to herself.

Free…

I didn’t know how to answer that question. So I stood there, motionless, watching her every move. Finally, she turned, moved away from the window, and went to the desk.

She took a sheet of paper and, with almost ceremonial care, wrote a word: Freedom on it. Then she folded the paper, transforming it into origami, a delicate little star. I watched her, fascinated despite myself by her concentration and the way she did it so quickly.

“Come here,” she says softly, raising her hand.

I move forward, and stop in front of her, as she places her palm in mine, the fragile star resting on it. She opens the window, the icy night air rushes into the room, hitting me immediately.

“It’s too cold,” I say instinctively. “You just got out of the shower.”

“Make a wish,” she says. “Go on, think of something,” she whispers again before staying behind me and holding my hand outside of the window. “Let go of it.”

I close my eyes, and I think of her. Of whatever happened to her, those situations she should never find herself in. I hope she never finds herself in those situations again, and I let go with her fingers holding mine.

The star falls into the night, mixing with the ones already in the sky, and disappears.

I turn around, her hand still in mine, and she looks at me with a small smile.

“Funny, isn’t it?” she asks.

I nod, lost in her soft disturbed eyes. “Yes, It is.”

And for a moment, all that exists is that little star, the cold wind, and her.

She moves, looking outside, hesitant, then takes a step, standing beside me, resting her head on my shoulder. I feel her shiver for a moment, then I put my arm around her, gently, to offer her some warmth.

I say nothing. I remain there, speechless, fascinated, unable to do anything else. Then she speaks softly, “I want to be like that star, until then, I’ll keep making wishes.”

“I’ll make some for you,” I reply without understanding why I’d say that.

“Thank you, Damien.”

Damien…

“You’re welcome, Mireya.”

50

Mireya

Play - I’m Not Them by Them and I

Soft fabric

The fabric underneath my head feels different. The smell of antiseptic burns my nose and the sharp pain in my stomach almost winds me up as I sit up too quickly. I look around noticing the sleeping form of Damien sitting on the floor, his hands folded against his legs.

Confusion washes over me as I notice the heavy clothing hanging around my body. I remember…it’s his.