From where Nora lay, the room never fully closed around her.

Even with the mask.

Even with the light.

Even with her own breathing echoing back at her—

There were still gaps.

And through them—

There were others.

⸻

To her left, past the narrow angle of the door, she could see the 19 year old again.

Closer now.

Clearer.

She couldn’t have been more than sixteen.

Dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail, strands stuck slightly to her temple where the light hit too warm. Her hands were folded tightly over her stomach—not relaxed, but held there, like she’d been told where to put them and hadn’t moved since.

Her mouth was open—too open—held by the bite block.

Her eyes were open too.

Not squeezed shut.

Not crying anymore.

Just… fixed.

Staring straight up at the light.

Every so often, her fingers would twitch—just slightly—like the rest of her wanted to move but didn’t dare.

The dentist in her room worked without pause.

When the drill touched down, her body would tense—not dramatically, just a subtle tightening through her shoulders, a small lift in her chest—

And then she would go still again.

As if she had learned quickly that reacting didn’t change anything.

⸻

Further down, in the next room—

An older woman.

Late thirties, maybe early forties.

She looked composed at first glance.

Hair neat. Makeup still intact. One hand resting lightly on the armrest.

But the longer Nora looked—

The more it showed.

Her knuckles were pale where her fingers curled into the chair.

Her foot tapped once. Stopped. Then stayed completely still.

When the probe pressed, her eyes shut tightly for a second—just one second—before reopening.

Controlled.

Measured.

Practiced.

But not unaffected.

When the drill started, her breathing changed—visible even from a distance.

Slower.

Deliberate.

As if she was managing it.

Enduring it.

Not new to this.

But not immune either.

⸻

Across the hall—

Another girl.

Younger.

Maybe 20.

Her legs didn’t quite reach the end of the chair, shoes hovering slightly above the footrest.

She looked small in it.

Smaller than she should have.

Her hands gripped a stuffed sleeve of her sweater, bunched tightly in her fists.

Her eyes darted more than the others.

To the tray.

To the dentist.

To the assistant.

Back to the light.

She hadn’t learned the stillness yet.

Every time something new entered her mouth, her whole body reacted—shoulders pulling up, knees tensing, toes curling inside her shoes.

“Stay open.”

The words reached Nora faintly, but clearly enough.

The girl nodded quickly, even though she couldn’t close her mouth.

Trying.

Trying to follow.

The drill started.

She made a sound—small, startled—and then froze, like she’d been caught doing something wrong.

Her eyes filled immediately.

But she didn’t cry.

She just stared.

Wide.

Overwhelmed.

⸻

In the room directly beside Nora—

Barely visible, just a reflection in the metal tray—

Another patient.

Young adult.

Maybe early twenties.

Her head was tilted slightly to the side, the assistant adjusting something near her cheek.

The mask was on her too.

Nora recognized it immediately.

The rise and fall of her breathing visible beneath it.

Slower than Nora’s.

But still—

There.

Present.

Her hands rested at her sides.

But one finger tapped faintly against the chair.

Over and over.

A small, repetitive motion.

The only sign that she wasn’t as calm as she appeared.

When the drill touched her—

She didn’t flinch.

Not outwardly.

But the tapping stopped.

Completely.

Until the drill lifted again.

Then it resumed.

Like a quiet signal.

Start.

Stop.

Start.

Stop.

⸻

And then—

Further down.

At the very end of the row.

A patient Nora hadn’t noticed before.

Because she didn’t move at all.

Older.

Gray at her temples.

Eyes closed.

Completely still.

Her hands rested loosely on her lap.

No tension.

No visible reaction.

But the stillness wasn’t peaceful.

It was…

Total.

Absolute.

Like she had gone somewhere else entirely.

Left her body there to endure it without her.

The dentist worked.

The drill sounded.

The suction followed.

And she didn’t move.

Not once.

⸻

Nora’s breath echoed loudly in her mask.

In.

Out.

Too fast.

Too present.

Too aware.

Because now—

It wasn’t just her.

It wasn’t just what she felt.

It was all of them.

Different ages.

Different ways of holding it.

But the same chair.

The same light.

The same commands.

The same stillness that eventually found all of them—

Whether they learned it…

Or were forced into it.

And as the drill returned to Nora—

As the sound filled her ears again—

She realized something that settled deep and heavy in her chest:

There wasn’t just one way to be afraid here.

There were many.

And she could see every single one of them.