The first lunch in three years was not normal.

  Aside from the new member added to our family, I was swallowing tension with every spoonful, and silence dominated the table today—unlike usual.

  There was an invisible gap between the patient who had just returned and the rest of the family.

  'I want to go back to my room…'

  Even if she wanted to return, as long as the fuzzy ball was still there, she wouldn't dare enter. But the growing tension made the food stick in her throat.

  "Father, I'm fine. I'm—"

  "Mariam, we're going to see a doctor. That's final."

  "Mariam, we only want to make sure you're alright. As you know, we suffered for three years. We don't want to suffer again."

  "…."

  The spoon hovered in midair, unsure of its destination.

  It neither returned to the plate nor entered her mouth.

  She wasn't hallucinating. She wasn't mentally ill.

  "I didn't really see anything!"

  "There's no harm in making sure."

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  Her father settled the matter once again.

  ...

  When lunch ended, I returned to my room.

  I expected the ball to still be hanging in its place—but there was no trace of it.

  I went to where it had been suspended without a string—

  or rather, floating in place.

  'The fuzzy ball was here… but…'

  I ran my fingers along the curtain, searching for the rough texture. There was no dent in the fabric, no disgusting sensation like before.

  I looked around, hoping to find even the tip of a strand of hair from the ball.

  Anything that could serve as proof that I wasn't insane.

  …Or proof that I was—so I could finally rest.

  I checked the dark corners, under the bed, above the desk—

  Under it…

  There it was, resting in the corner beneath the desk.

  Proof of my innocence.

  A jet-black strand of hair, shining instead of absorbing light, announcing its presence.

  I grabbed it quickly, afraid it might disappear without a trace as well.

  While I was deeply searching, my mind lost in another world—

  A knock on the door.

  The sudden sound startled me, and I hit my head against the underside of the desk.

  "One moment!"

  I opened the door, holding the spot where I had bumped my head.

  "Are you okay?"

  Concerned, my brother Zain followed me into the room. When he saw my hand on my head, his expression grew even more worried.

  "I'm fine."

  "Nuhā called to ask about you. And since your phone was destroyed in the accident, I bought you a new one. It has the same SIM card, and all your contacts are saved."

  "Thank you, brother."

  "If you need anything, tell me."

  He turned to leave—but a small, pale hand, as if drained of blood, stopped him.

  "Look at this, Zain."

  I placed the black strand of hair in his palm. It dangled between his fingers.

  "What is this supposed to be?"

  He smiled slightly, his single dimple appearing on one side of his face.

  "This is a strand from the fuzzy ball I saw before lunch—and in the hospital too, after I woke up. You know none of us has hair this color."

  "…"

  Slowly, the dimple faded. He looked more closely at the strand.

  "This hair…"

  "Yes. This hair is proof that I wasn't hallucinating."

  "You know… my wife has black hair."

  His dimple reappeared on one side.

  "…"

  'I forgot.'

  There was a new member of the family.

  But—

  "And what was she doing under my desk?"

  "I don't know. Maybe she was cleaning? Don't be mean. Get some rest. I'm leaving."

  He left as he came, and I was alone once again.

  I sat on my bed and opened my phone, scrolling through it.

  The new phone—unlike the old one—was smooth.

  Typing was easy. The touch was responsive. Commands executed in less than a second.

  My fingers quickly typed my friend's name into the contacts search bar. I found it immediately.

  And just as my finger hovered over her name—

  It stopped.

  A cold shiver ran across my damp skin the moment I realized something.

  But…

  What was my brother's wife doing under my desk?