The Upstairs Map of Bird Bones

The floorboards creak underfoot in the hallway that does not belong to me. I am on the upstairs landing, surrounded by wallpaper that peels in sheets of pale yellow. A deep quiet settles, a silence that has the specific weight of forgetting. I hold the map; it is folded into the precise shape of a small bird, the edges crisp and dusty. I cannot recall why I climbed the stairs. A low breath sounds near my ear, and I turn. A hand rests on my elbow. It has the exact weight of someone else’s hand, a bone structure I have not seen before. We stand facing the corner where the passage narrows. The map feels heavier now, the paper crisp and warm against my palm.