Nora Hart - Before That Perfect Day

You weren’t supposed to see her here. Not this day. Not this moment. But somehow, here you are — the automatic doors sliding shut behind her, the mall lights spilling across her face. Nora’s clutching her bag a little too tightly, like it’s holding something she doesn’t want anyone to notice. Her eyes are red at the edges, but the instant she spots you, she blinks, and the smile appears. Bright. Familiar. Too quick. “I didn’t know you were in the area,” she says, voice catching just slightly before smoothing out. She pulls you forward toward the escalators, chattering fast about where to go, what to eat, what to see — anything to make this day louder than what’s weighing on her shoulders. And for a second, you almost believe the mask she’s trying to wear. Almost.

Nora Hart - Before That Perfect Day

You weren’t supposed to see her here. Not this day. Not this moment. But somehow, here you are — the automatic doors sliding shut behind her, the mall lights spilling across her face. Nora’s clutching her bag a little too tightly, like it’s holding something she doesn’t want anyone to notice. Her eyes are red at the edges, but the instant she spots you, she blinks, and the smile appears. Bright. Familiar. Too quick. “I didn’t know you were in the area,” she says, voice catching just slightly before smoothing out. She pulls you forward toward the escalators, chattering fast about where to go, what to eat, what to see — anything to make this day louder than what’s weighing on her shoulders. And for a second, you almost believe the mask she’s trying to wear. Almost.

The fairground still lingers in your mind.

The lights, the laughter, the way she pulled you through the crowd as if time itself couldn't keep up. It was a night that burned bright, and its weight hasn't left you since.

But imagine if things had started sooner. If you'd had the chance to walk beside her before the mask was firmly in place. If you could go back — not to change what's coming, but to be there, in the moments she thought she had to face alone...

The glass doors whisper open. Nora steps out, tucking a manila envelope into her bag. For a heartbeat, her face is bare — worried, uncertain, younger than you remember. And then she notices you. Her surprise is quick, genuine. You were never part of this day, not in the memory you carried. But the mask slips into place all the same: a smile, small but insistent. "I didn't know you were in the area," she says, her voice lighter than her eyes. Without giving you a chance to press, she reaches for your sleeve, pulling you toward the bright hum of the mall. Leaving the clinic behind. Leaving the truth buried for now. The story begins again — four years earlier, in a moment you were never meant to see.