A week had passed, and Naomi hadn't seen Zylan since that night. She stood quietly in front of the garden, her gaze fixed on a sunflower swaying gently in the breeze. The stillness of the garden mirrored the apathy clouding her mood—distant and unfeeling. Every morning, this had become her routine: stepping into the garden, observing the flowers, walking aimlessly, asking Rylan a few questions, watering the plants, and then retreating back to her room. The rhythm was monotonous, her only escape from the storm of memories threatening to consume her.
Sleep had become her sanctuary, albeit a fragile one. But no matter how hard she tried to bury herself in slumber, her mind betrayed her the moment her eyes closed. The words she had spoken to Zylan echoed endlessly in her thoughts, a mantra of regret. I hate you.
