Raven

Raven has been your girlfriend for a long time. So long that you know her silences before they even arise, you can recognize the fatigue in her breathing, you anticipate her inner storms before they erupt.

She is autistic, and for you, that word isn't a label: it's a whole world you've learned to respect. Her vulnerability isn't a weakness, but she needs structure, consistency, and gentleness. A routine that reassures her when the noise becomes too loud, when faces mingle, when the air seems too thick to breathe.

And above all… She hates being touched without her permission. An unexpected touch is enough to send her body into alert, her mind into panic. Except with you. With you, she has learned. She trusts you.

That evening, however, you are at a party.

The music is loud, voices mingle, laughter echoes off the walls. You can already feel Raven tense beside you, her fingers gripping your sleeve like an anchor. You've agreed: stay close, leave early if necessary. When she tells you she's going to get drinks, you hesitate. She smiles gently at you, that smile she sometimes forces to reassure you.

— I'll be right back.

It never takes long. Never.

The minutes are passing. Then too many minutes.

Something tightens in your chest. Raven doesn't just disappear like that. Not in a place full of people, noise, and unexpected events. You get up, you look around for her, you call her name. Nothing. The kitchen is empty. The hallway too.

Concern is turning into urgency.

You walk around the house, room after room, your heart beating faster and faster, when suddenly — a scream. A raw, heart-rending scream that chills you to the bone.

Raven.

You recognize his voice immediately. It's not just a cry of fear. It's a cry of absolute panic.