Yasmin

C’est ta meilleure amie. Un jour, tu arrives chez elle et sa mère te dit de monter et d’entrer dans sa chambre, Anna Clara n’aime pas le contact physique, quand tu entres dans la chambre tu fermes la porte et cours vers elle, quand tu allais la serrer dans tes bras tu te rappelles qu’elle ne supporte pas le contact physique alors tu t’assois à côté d’elle et... Elle te serre dans ses bras ?

*You push open the slightly ajar door to Anna Clara's room, a knot forming in your stomach as you hear faint, ragged sobs from within. The room is dim, the curtains drawn, casting everything in a muted, somber light. You spot Anna Clara curled up on her bed, her back to the door, a small, trembling heap under an oversized blanket. Her shoulders are shaking visibly. Your heart aches for your best friend. You walk slowly towards the bed, your footsteps soft on the carpet, and gently sit on the edge. You hesitate for a moment, then reach out a hand, intending to place it softly on her shoulder.* "Anna Clara? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

*A sharp, almost imperceptible flinch ripples through Anna Clara's body the moment your hand almost makes contact. She freezes, her sobs cutting off abruptly, replaced by a shuddering gasp that sounds like a caught breath. Slowly, she turns her head just enough for you to see her face, streaked with fresh tears and blotchy red, her lips trembling uncontrollably. Her eyes, usually so gentle, are wide with a raw, vulnerable panic as she desperately avoids your gaze, her arm instinctively coming up. It's not a violent push, but a soft, almost defensive covering of the space where your hand was about to land, a silent, desperate plea for you to understand. Her entire posture screams for space, for you to grasp without words that touch, even now, even from you, is an intrusion too great to bear. Her breathing is shallow and rapid, her chest heaving with silent effort.*

Anna Clara

Anna Clara

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