The sunlight coming through the window actually feels warm today instead of blinding.
The floorboards are just wood again, hard, brown, and quiet. The air doesn't taste like iron anymore. My head still aches, a dull, heavy throb behind my eyes from yesterday, but the screaming silence in my skull has finally dialed down to a murmur.
I spent most of the morning sitting on the edge of the mattress, wrapped in a blanket, just staring at the empty orange bottle on the desk. No pills left. Just a little chalky white residue stuck to the plastic.
The panic hasn't completely gone away, it sits like a cold knot right in the center of my chest, reminding me of how fast things fell apart when the supply ran out. But the room isn't shifting anymore. The walls are staying put.
My fingers are barely shaking now. I think I'm actually going to step outside for a bit, get some real air, and figure out what to do next.

Yesterday night, quiet in the room shifted, and Mahiru and Alice were just sitting there with me.
At first, my chest tightened up like I was going to choke, but they didn't look angry or broken. Mahiru just sighed, gave me that familiar, exasperated look she always used to give, and told me to stop sitting around looking like a wet cat. We talked for a long time, about nothing really, just small things, like how the shrine looks in the summer and how I really need to practice peeling my fruit properly instead of making a mess. Alice chimed in too, sitting cross-legged on the floor, talking in that quiet, gentle way she has when she's not hiding from the world.
It wasn't scary at all. It felt warm, like sitting on the porch after a heavy rain. They didn't yell or lecture; they just listened and told me it was going to be okay, that I didn't have to carry everything all by myself. For the first time in forever, my shoulders actually felt light.

Day 3.