From Mob Princess to Mugshot Photographer novel Chapter 27

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**Storm Behind Sleeps by George Orwell**

**Chapter 10**

I had lingered in this town far longer than I ever intended. The weight of my surroundings pressed down on me, and I could feel the urge for freedom bubbling within. It was time to break free from these chains, to reclaim my life.

As I stepped forward into the embrace of the night wind, I resolutely refused to glance back. Yet, amidst the rustling leaves, a familiar voice cut through the stillness—a voice I had come to associate with both authority and compassion. It was the doctor.

Curiosity tugged at me, and I found myself turning around. There he stood, silhouetted beneath the sprawling canopy of the town’s grand banyan tree, its roots sprawling like ancient fingers gripping the earth.

His hands were clasped together, a gesture that spoke of earnestness and hope. “I’m a man of science,” he began, his tone steady yet tinged with a hint of vulnerability. “But if there’s anyone listening tonight, I implore you—let that young lady find a good place. Let her smile more, let her speak more, and let her no longer feel the weight of solitude.”

His words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning. “Being that bottled up would make anyone sick,” he added, the sincerity in his voice resonating with my own bottled emotions.

Once he finished his heartfelt plea, he offered a small, awkward bow, as if he were performing a ritual of farewell.

I stood there momentarily, feeling the cool breeze weave through my hair and caress my skin, a strange warmth pooling in my eyes. The kindness of a stranger—a simple act—served as a fragile comfort against the impending chill of winter that loomed ahead. I turned away quickly, feeling the urge to shield myself from the vulnerability that threatened to engulf me.

But even as I walked away, Soren’s anguished cries from his nightmares echoed relentlessly in my mind. “Tessa… don’t go…” The weight of his words hung heavily in my heart, a haunting reminder of my past.

I shook my head slightly, as if to physically cast off the last remnants of my attachment to the life I was leaving behind. From this moment forward, I resolved to become something different—perhaps a flower stretching towards the sun, or a tree yearning to touch the sky.