Lydia's Point Of View
I stood there, the silence stretching out like a thin, wire-taut string ready to snap and take my head off. My chest constricted, my lungs barely expanding, drawing in just enough air to keep me from collapsing in front of everyone.
Each breath felt shallow, inadequate. The fluorescent lights overhead seemed to buzz louder in the quiet, amplifying my growing sense of dread.
What was he even talking about? The apple? The tree? My brain churned with static, scrambling for footing, desperate to understand why his smile felt less like a compliment and more like a blade being polished right in front of my throat.
The metaphor hung in the air between us, heavy with unspoken meaning. I searched his face for some hint of benign intent, but found only cold calculation staring back at me.
