Margin of Error

Chapter Twenty-Three

My pulse picked up. "So what is this, then?"

She didn't look away, not even for a second. "This is me telling you that I'm interested. Not just in your work, not just in your ideas but in you."

I blinked, unsure if I heard her right. "Ma'am..."

"Eliza," she corrected gently.

"Eliza..." I repeated, the name tasting strange and intimate in my mouth. Too wrong to say it out loud.

She smiled again, almost as if she was satisfied with just hearing me say it. "I don't expect an answer right now. But I thought you should know."

And just like that, she sat back, sipping her coffee as if she hadn't just dropped a bomb on my morning.

Meanwhile, my heart was racing like it was finals week all over again.

I stared at her for a beat too long, the weight of her words pressing on my chest.

"Miss Castro" My voice was quiet, almost hesitant. "You know I respect you. A lot. But I'm not in a place where I can give someone what they're looking for."

Her smile faltered just a fraction but she masked it quickly, taking another sip of her coffee. "I see."

"It's not you," I added quickly, though I knew how cliché it sounded. "It's just after everything, I'm still trying to figure myself out. Trying to heal."

There was a flicker in her eyes, curiosity, maybe even hurt but she didn't push right away. Instead, she leaned back in her seat, fingers drumming lightly on her cup. "You've been through something haven't you?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "We've all been through something."

Her gaze sharpened, like she was studying the way I avoided hers. "True. But some things leave scars deeper than others. The way you tense up when certain people appear it's not just random."

I forced a laugh. "You're reading too much into it, Miss Castro."

"Eliza," she corrected softly. "And maybe I am. But" She leaned forward slightly. "That girl from the festival. Mira. She's part of it, isn't she?"

My breath caught. "She's no one."

"Deahyah." Her voice was calm but unyielding, like she wasn't going to drop it. "People don't get that kind of reaction from you unless they matter. Or used to."

I stared down at my coffee, swirling the spoon just to keep my hands busy. "It's complicated."

"I'm not asking you to spill everything," she said, her tone gentler now. "But I want to understand you. And that means even the parts that hurt."

I met her eyes then, and something in her expression. concern, patience, maybe even care made me want to tell her. But the words stuck in my throat. "Someday," I murmured instead.

I said it to drop the topic that I don't want to talk about anymore. Even my friends know how much I buried this. And resurfacing it makes me want to puke. 

She nodded slowly, though I could tell she wasn't satisfied. "I'll hold you to that."

We fell silent, the sound of rain against the café window filling the space between us.

It wasn't interrogation. It wasn't pity.
It was something else.

The rain hadn't stopped by the time I got home, but my mind was louder than the weather.
Eliza's voice kept replaying "That girl from the festival. Mira. She's part of it, isn't she?"

By morning, I was already sitting in the waiting room of Dr. Ramos' clinic, legs bouncing under my chair.

"Come in," she said, her warm smile meeting me as I stepped inside. Her office smelled faintly of lavender and old books, comforting, like a hug I didn't have to ask for.

"So," she began once I settled on the couch. "What's been happening since our last session?"

I sighed. "I saw her."

Dr. Ramos tilted her head slightly. "Mira?"

I nodded, my fingers twisting the edge of my sleeve. "At the Bon Odori Festival. She... she looked exactly the same. And just like before, my chest tightened, my palms got sweaty. I was right back there. Back to the rumors. The shame. The nights I couldn't sleep."

She didn't interrupt, just watched me with that steady, patient gaze.

"I held it together," I continued. "For my team. I had to. I couldn't... let them see me break." My voice cracked on that last word.

"That must have taken a lot of strength," she said softly.

"Strength?" I gave a humorless laugh. "It felt more like survival. And then" I hesitated, replaying the scene in the café. "Miss Castro—Eliza—she asked about Mira. She could tell something was off. And I... I lied. Said she was no one."

Dr. Ramos leaned forward. "Why lie?"

"Because if she knew, if she knew the whole story..." I trailed off, staring at the patterned carpet. "I don't want to be that person to her. The broken one. The girl with baggage."

"Deahyah," she said gently, "the people who matter won't see you as broken. They'll see you as someone who survived. And healing doesn't make you weak, it makes you human."

I swallowed hard, her words hitting a place I didn't want to look at too closely.

"Tell me," she added, "what scares you more? That Eliza will see you differently or that she might see you too clearly?"

I didn't answer right away. Because honestly? I wasn't sure.