Chapter 6 — Routine

It became easier when I stopped thinking about it.

That was the first rule I made for myself, even if I never said it out loud. Thinking led to questions. Questions led to fear. Fear led to mistakes.

So I kept things simple.

If someone felt faint, I spoke to them.

If they looked distant, I asked something ordinary. Homework. Lunch. The weather. Things that didn’t matter, but somehow did.

I didn’t linger.

I didn’t pry.

I didn’t get close.

It worked.

Days passed like that. Quietly. Predictably. I began to notice the signs faster—the way someone’s voice sounded thinner, the way their presence didn’t quite fill the space it should. I learned when to step in and when to walk away.

A short conversation was enough.

A name spoken casually.

A few minutes of attention, then distance.

They brightened. Sharpened. Returned to normal.

And I moved on.

No one thanked me. No one noticed anything strange. They just went back to their lives, solid and loud and real.

That was fine.

I preferred it that way.

I kept my involvement shallow on purpose. I never stayed longer than necessary. I never asked personal questions. I never let conversations drift into anything meaningful.

Meaning made things messy.

During lunch, I sat at the same table every day, close enough to hear people talk but far enough to avoid being pulled in. When someone’s presence dulled, I’d comment on their food or complain about an assignment.

They’d laugh.

Color returned.

And I’d excuse myself.

It felt… calm.

Like I’d found a rhythm that didn’t demand too much from me. I wasn’t responsible for anyone. I wasn’t saving them. I was just nudging things back into place when they slipped.

That distinction mattered.

I told myself it was safer not to care.

Caring meant watching. Watching meant noticing when things didn’t get better.

So I kept a distance, wrapping myself in routine like armor 🛡️

Wake up. School. Observe. Intervene. Leave.

Repeat.

I didn’t talk about what I was doing. I didn’t even think about it much anymore. The fear that had once tightened my chest dulled into something manageable, something I could carry without stumbling.

Sometimes, I even forgot how strange it all was.

That should have worried me.

One afternoon, as I headed home, I caught my reflection in a darkened window. I slowed, watching carefully.

This time, the reflection moved with me. No delay. No fading.

I looked… normal.

The relief I felt surprised me.

Maybe this was balance. Maybe this was how things were supposed to be. I helped when I could. I stayed distant. I didn’t get hurt.

The thought settled easily, like a warm drink on a cold day ☕

I walked the rest of the way home without looking back.

Behind me, the world stayed quiet.

Too quiet.