longer we stared at it, the stranger it felt. It wasn’t hidden—it was placed right where we sleep, making it feel oddly personal. Our minds quickly jumped to uncomfortable possibilities: something broken, something medical, even the irrational thought that someone had been in the room.
We hesitated before touching it, circling the bed as if a different angle might explain it. Finally, I picked it up. It was light, smooth, and plastic—clearly not dangerous, but still unfamiliar. We searched the room, checked the bathroom, even looked through drawers and cabinets.
