Morning came with dew clinging to the grass.
Elara stepped into the corridor when the door opened, as always. Silence went first. Her foot made little sound, but it still felt too loud in that place. The tutor walked ahead without looking back.
The garden appeared all at once.
The high wall, pale and whole. The stone path cutting the grass in a straight line, too clean. A strip of shadow still held in one corner, thin, trying not to disappear.
The children were already there, loose clusters running, kicking the cloth ball, laughing loud. The sound struck the wall and came back changed, slightly off.
Elara went to her place.
Near the wall. Where the ground was harder. Where she could lean and not stand in the middle.
The tutor stopped a few steps behind her, pretending to watch the group. Her eyes returned to Elara the way they return to a door left ajar.
The ball bounced close. Stopped. No one came.
A child ran to get it, but an adult hand appeared in the way—light, firm, just a touch on the shoulder. The child turned without complaint, as if remembering a rule before hearing it.
Elara stayed still.
The day began to move by the way the shadow shrank and the brightness climbed the wall.
Heat arrived late on the ground. Even so, the air near the wall barely stirred.
Her knee bent easily when she crouched to pick up a small stone. Too easily.
She smoothed the skin with her finger, just to see if anything answered. Nothing.
Behind her, the tutor coughed softly.
Elara didn't look right away. Looked after, only from the corner of her eye. The tutor stood too close to be just passing by. Still. Her body seemed unsure where to stand.
Elara nudged the stone with her toe until it hit the wall and rolled back.
The word left before she shaped it in her mouth. As if it had been stored in her body already.
"When can I play again?"
The tutor took time.
Not much. But enough to stretch. Her eyes went to the children, to the ball, to the ground, then back.
"Later."
The word landed closed.
Elara waited for the rest.
Nothing came.
The ball rolled again and stopped near the wall. Too near. She could touch it with her foot. Just touch.
She didn't.
A rope appeared, improvised, and the ball was pulled back without touching her. It passed a finger's distance from Elara's hand.
One finger.
Elara pressed the tip of her own finger, where it had been cut the other day. The skin was smooth. Her body waited for a sting that didn't come. She pressed harder.
Nothing.
The sun climbed higher. The shadow grew too small to hold her whole. She dragged herself sideways, chasing the last cool strip.
She stayed there.
Later, a different tutor passed nearby.
Elara lifted her face before the urge faded.
"When can I play again?"
The tutor didn't answer.
Not quickly. Not slowly.
She kept walking.
Her step didn't slow. She didn't turn. Didn't look.
Elara kept her mouth open a moment longer than needed. It closed on its own.
The "later" didn't come.
No word.
No gesture.
Not even a glance.
Her body waited anyway.
Waited with a foot ready to lift.
With her chest half raised.
With weight held somewhere that had nowhere to fall.
Nothing answered.
The garden stayed loud. Laughter. Running. Ball.
But now the sound passed through her without striking.
Elara lowered her face to the ground.
"Later" wasn't a time.
It wasn't a promise.
It was something that could simply not come back.
And her body, slowly, began to learn that without anyone saying it.
She stayed there, not playing, holding the empty space where a whole day used to fit.