The bench is not enough.
After a while — minutes, maybe longer — Laura stands again.
No announcement.
No explanation.
Her body moves before she evaluates it.
Axel stands too.
Automatically.
They resume walking.
This time slower.
The park path curves in loose arcs.
No straight lines.
No defined endpoints.
Laura notices this.
Straight lines are efficient.
Curves are indulgent.
She does not correct her direction.
Her thoughts feel softer now.
Less sharp.
As if someone turned down the contrast in her mind.
Normally, she would be reviewing the interview in detail by now.
Preparing.
Anticipating.
Instead, there is only the sound of gravel shifting beneath her shoes.
Crunch.
Pause.
Crunch.
No metronome.
No counted measures.
Just irregular sound.
It unsettles her less than it should.
Axel remains just within peripheral awareness.
He is not watching her constantly.
She would feel that.
He looks at trees.
At the sky.
At nothing in particular.
He gives her space without retreating.
That balance feels intentional.
She wonders when he learned to do that.
A breeze moves through the branches above.
Leaves tremble.
The movement is chaotic.
Yet not threatening.
Laura studies it.
Wind has no structure.
No obligation to resolve.
It simply passes.
Her chest tightens briefly.
Then releases.
A delayed response.
As if her body is recalibrating without instruction.
She presses her fingertips together lightly.
Grounding.
Sensation is consistent.
That is reassuring.
She tries to think about music.
About the rehearsal.
About the wrong note.
The emotional spike.
Instead of clarity, she finds fog.
Not panic.
Just distance.
As though the urgency she felt earlier belonged to someone else.
That disturbs her more than anxiety would.
Anxiety is active.
This feels… suspended.
They reach a narrow bridge crossing a shallow stream.
Laura pauses at the midpoint.
Water moves below them.
Unmeasured.
Continuous.
Axel stops beside her.
Neither leans on the railing.
They just stand.
Watching.
Time begins to feel elastic.
She cannot tell if it has been ten minutes or thirty.
That awareness surfaces faintly.
She does not chase it.
She lets it float past.
That is unlike her.
She is always tracking time.
Always anticipating the next obligation.
Right now, there is no next step.
Just this.
A child runs past them, laughing.
The sudden sound pierces the quiet.
Laura flinches slightly.
Axel notices.
He does not comment.
He shifts closer by an inch.
Barely perceptible.
Enough.
She inhales.
Slow.
Controlled.
The tightness in her chest does not return.
Instead, there is a spreading heaviness.
Not painful.
Just… weight.
As if the effort of maintaining structure all day has finally revealed itself.
She had not realized she was holding anything.
The path opens into another clearing.
This one larger.
Grass bending in the wind.
Benches scattered unevenly.
No symmetry.
Laura feels a faint urge to correct the visual imbalance.
Then recognizes the thought.
And lets it go.
She sits again.
This time without straightening her spine immediately.
Axel sits beside her.
Closer than before.
Not touching.
But near enough that she can feel the warmth of him through the space.
They remain like that.
Still.
Breathing.
The world moves around them without instruction.
Laura does not set tempo.
She does not resolve tension.
She does not perform stability.
She simply… exists.
And the unfamiliarity of that feels both dangerous and relieving.
Laura's gaze drifts upward toward the sky.
Clouds move without pattern.
Without precision.
She watches them until her thoughts grow quiet.
Quieter than they have been in years.