For Now

For Now is a short work of fiction about care, proximity, and how easily temporary arrangements harden into structure.

Set in a small town where nothing overtly goes wrong, it follows a man who begins helping someone and continues helping without ever quite deciding to. What forms between them is not dramatic or violent, and it is not clearly benign. It simply holds — until it doesn’t.

The story is not about rescue, guilt, or redemption.
It is about duration.
About how responsibility can form without consent.
About the difference between care and enclosure, and how difficult it can be to see the line while you are inside it.

This is not a comforting book.
It does not offer guidance or resolution.
It ends where understanding arrives too late to be useful.