She looks at me with a furrowed brow. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything," I reply, and I mean it. I'm interested in every detail of her life. I want to know what she likes to eat, where she went to school, who her friends are, and why she speaks Italian so well.
"Everything?" She raises an eyebrow.
I nod. "From birth until today."
For a moment, she smirks to herself, then she begins to recount. It's already dark by the time she tells me about her brother.
"With Elina, he found the love of his life," she says thoughtfully. "If perhaps true love does exist, then the two have found it."
It does exist. I know it, but I don't say it out loud. Listening to her is like listening to an enchanting melody. And the fact that she didn't mention Florian makes it even more beautiful. It's as if he doesn't exist. Not in her thoughts, and maybe not even in her heart.
Not that it would change anything. It's just… beautiful.
With each passing hour, I feel better, and eventually, I dare to sit up on the sofa. I no longer feel like a freezer, and my stomach is only slightly queasy. But that changes abruptly when my gaze falls on the bookshelf opposite.
"How did this get here?" I ask, not realizing at first that I've spoken my thoughts aloud.
Hanna gets up and walks to the shelf. "You mean this?" She carefully pulls out the album, holding it in her hands like a treasure. "I didn't want it to be lost, so I brought it to Camilla."
Just the way she says the last sentence makes me swallow hard. She didn't want it to be lost. Well, it's already too late for that. "Put it back." My voice has taken on a panicked tone, and I can hear it clearly. And so can she.
Looking directly at me, she holds the album close to her chest. "But why? I'm sure it's filled with beautiful memories."
Yes, it is.
And that's exactly the problem.
She approaches me. "Shall we look at it together?"
Oh God, no! "Why?" To feel the pain I escaped from through my new life all over again? Certainly not.
Unfazed, she sits down beside me on the sofa. "My father died young too," she says softly. "At first, it was difficult, but today I carry the good memories of him in my heart." She smiles at me wistfully. "I wouldn't want to give them up for anything in the world."
I can't imagine that. It doesn't make sense. "Why?"
Her lips curve upward. "Because I don't want to miss out on all the beautiful memories. I don't want to forget them; I want them to remain alive within me."
"But the pain…" I shouldn't have said that.
Now she knows.
She knows that nothing frightens me more than the agony that came with losing my mother. For me, for my sisters, and especially for my father. Her death shattered everything. How could I ever reminisce about the good times without despairing over the fact that they died with her?
Instead of condemning me for my cowardice, she smiles warmly at me. "Do you feel it?"
"Every day," I admit without hesitation. It’s there whenever silence creeps into me. Only when adrenaline rushes through my veins am I truly free from it. I've never told anyone about it. Only Hanna is allowed to know.
"You've tried to shake it off. But it’s still there," she says gently. Then she places the album on my lap with a meaningful look. "Sometimes, you have to leave old paths to grow into the new ones."
I lower my gaze to the leather cover and trace the outer edge of the album with my index finger. Even if a part of me no longer desires it, a voice in my head warns me loudly. "Everything could get worse," I say, voicing what dominates my thoughts.
"That's possible," she reaches for my forearm and squeezes it gently. "But the exact opposite could happen too."
Carefully, I slide my hand under the cover, my fingers trembling.
"I'm here," Hanna whispers.
