Chapter five - Pain is inevitable...

The images were moving.

At first, she thought it was simply a trick of the light.

The afternoon sun had shifted again, sending a warm shaft through the caravan window. Tiny particles of dust drifted lazily in its path, floating so slowly they barely seemed to move at all.

She blinked once, then looked back towards the table.

One of the images had changed.

Not dramatically. Not enough that anyone else might have noticed.

But a face had turned ever so slightly.

A hand that had been frozen in mid-air now appeared to be completing its movement.

Someone in the background was taking another step.

She leaned forwards.

The hairs on the back of her neck lifted.

“No…” she whispered, almost to herself.

Then another image moved.

A child’s shoulders rose with a breath.

Someone looked away.

A door began to close.

Her own breathing became shallow.

“What’s happening?”

The guide remained exactly where she was, comfortably seated, her hands resting loosely in her lap.

She didn’t hurry to answer.

She didn’t reach across to reassure her.

She simply shared the silence.

The young woman’s eyes travelled quickly from one memory to another.

For years, they had remained exactly as she remembered them.

Still.

Fixed.

Like photographs trapped beneath glass.

Safe, perhaps, because they could no longer change.

Predictable, because she already knew every detail.

Yet now they had begun to unfold before her.

Not changing the story.

Simply allowing it to continue.

“They’re moving.”

Her voice was tighter now.

“They’re actually moving.”

The guide watched her for a moment.

“Breathe.”

That was all.

The young woman tried.

The breath caught high in her chest.

Again.

This one travelled a little further.

Again.

Gradually, her shoulders softened.

“But they’re moving.”

“I know.”

The guide smiled gently.

“They should be.”

The young woman looked at her.

“What do you mean, they should be?”

The guide tilted her head towards the table.

“What are you noticing?”

She looked again.

Her brow tightened.

“All the things that went wrong.”

“And from where are you looking?”

The question irritated her.

“From here.”

A small smile touched the guide’s face.

“Exactly.”

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The caravan seemed unusually still.

Somewhere outside, a breeze stirred the lavender growing beside the steps. Its scent drifted faintly through the open window.

Inside, the kettle resting on the stove gave a quiet tick as it cooled.

Neither of them spoke.

For the first time since arriving, the young woman became aware of how quiet the room really was.

Not empty.

Not awkward.

Just quiet.

A different kind of quiet.

The sort she had spent years avoiding.

Her eyes wandered around the table.

That was when she noticed it.

Another chair.

She frowned.

She was sure it hadn’t been there before.

It sat at the end of the table. Plain. Weathered. No different from the others.

Yet somehow, she felt drawn towards it.

The guide followed her gaze.

“Would you like to sit there for a moment?”

She looked from the chair to the guide.

“Why?”

“I’d simply like you to see something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.”

The answer caught her off guard.

“You don’t know?”

The guide smiled.

“I know where I’d invite you to sit.”

She paused.

“What you notice when you get there belongs to you.”

The young woman looked back at the chair.

For reasons she couldn’t explain, she hesitated.

Her hand rested on the back of the chair she was already sitting in.

She realised she didn’t really want to leave it.

It felt familiar.

Safe.

She knew exactly what the memories looked like from there.

Standing up somehow felt like leaving behind more than a piece of furniture.

She laughed quietly at herself.

“It’s only a chair.”

The guide didn’t answer.

Perhaps it wasn’t.

The young woman slowly stood.

For one last moment, she looked down at the seat she had occupied.

Then, with measured steps, she walked around the table.

She pulled out the second chair.

The old wood creaked softly beneath her weight.

Nothing happened.

Or so she thought.

Then one of the floating memories drifted gently towards the centre of the table.

It hung between them like a tiny world suspended in glass.

She stared.

The people inside hadn’t changed.

The words hadn’t changed.

The expressions were exactly as she remembered them.

And yet…

Something wasn’t the same.

She couldn’t explain it.

She simply knew she was no longer seeing it in quite the same way.