Nele Falls

I closed the door with a soft click. The air in the bathroom suddenly felt brisker. As if someone had opened a window.

He had seen me.

And he hadn't said a word. He hadn't flinched. He had just looked—and walked away. Like a man who walks silently past a burning house because there is nothing left to save.

I stood there frozen for a moment, my hands at my sides, my skin tingling all over my body, my heart pounding so loudly that it echoed in my ears. Everything inside me was boiling—heat, shame, triumph, panic. I was breathing fast and shallowly. My body suddenly felt heavier, as if gravity had densified around me. I told myself to slow down. To calm down.

“Okay,” I whispered into the empty room. “Okay. Shower time is over. The game is over.”

I reached for the crumpled towel on the floor. I wrapped it around myself again – this time tighter – and walked toward the door. I would go to my room and get something to wear. Something normal. Something sensible.

I made it to the threshold.

My foot stepped on the edge – still damp from the steam – and slipped away.

It all happened so fast. The terrible feeling of free fall. The rapid movement. My hands flailed around in search of something to hold on to that wasn't there. The towel flew away. The dull thud of my body hitting the floor. Then the pain. Sudden and overwhelming. My scream.

I landed on my back like a bug. The towel was gone. My breath caught in my throat. I was too scared to move. Everything hurt, but not badly. And I was naked again. Exposed again. But this time, it wasn't intentional.

Footsteps. Fast. Heavy. His voice from the study, loud and frightened: “Nele! What's wrong?”

He came around the corner and saw me. Lying flat on my back. Arms and legs spread wide. Stunned.

His eyes darted over me in panic. At first, he didn't even notice that I wasn't wearing anything. “Are you okay?”

He paused.

I saw his brain freeze. Because of what he saw. How I looked. How my legs were parted wide open.

I wrapped my arms around my chest. “Don't look!”

He turned away, his hands covering his face. “My God, I'm sorry, Nele—are you hurt?”

“I—I don't think so,” I whispered.

But I was hurt.

Not my body.

Just... me.

This time, I hadn't prepared the stage. This wasn't a game. This was real. And it had caught us both off guard.