David's POV: After The Fall

I heard the impact. A dull, heavy thud—followed by a scream.

“Nele?”

No answer.

I was already moving, two steps at a time. I turned the corner, holding my breath. And there she was. Collapsed on the bathroom threshold. The towel was draped around her like a flag that had been struck. Her legs and arms were awkwardly tangled, as if she didn't know what to cover first.

“Nele—are you hurt?”

Her eyes were wide with fear. Her voice was barely audible: “Don't look.”

I turned around. Instinctively. Reflexively. As if it mattered now. It was too late. I had already seen it.

Everything.

The image burned itself into my memory. The curves of her body. Her legs. The vulnerability—this time not intentional, no more games. Just real.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I... I think so,” she said. Her voice trembled.

I stared at the wall. My gaze was fixed on a nail where a picture had been hanging some time ago.

“I didn't fall on purpose,” she whispered, barely audible. “I didn't want you to see me like this.”

I didn't say anything. What else could I have said? The truth was, I had seen her like this many times before. Dozens of times. In fleeting moments. Hints. Coincidences that didn't feel like coincidences. And I hadn't stopped it. Because part of me wanted it.

But this time it was different. This wasn't a schoolgirl performance. This was pain. Fear. Embarrassment. She was trembling.

I should have helped her—offered her my hand. But as I stood there, I realized I didn't know who needed comfort more—her or me.