Padma was not fine. She was absolutely, positively, in no way fine. Evie thought she was flirting with Stebbins. Flirting? Padma shook her head distractedly, bile rising in her throat as she pushed away from Evie.
"I've got to go, Evie—" she said distractedly, pushing past her and making her way to the hall. She hurriedly dropped her things off with Neville's assistant before quickly making her way back to her desk and grabbing her purse. She had to get out of there. She glanced around to make sure Stebbins was no where near her, but she was barely paying attention as she made her way to the women's restroom, the only thought on her mind being to contact Michael, to find a way out, past Stebbins, away from Stebbins, somewhere safe, somewhere that he couldn't get her.
Because he panicked when he saw her, she could tell he was panicked by her, and she was afraid, shaking, unable to form coherent strings of thought as she locked herself in the bathroom, in the stall, safe for the moment until she could calm down. She lowered the lid on the bathroom seat and pulled her legs up to her chest, hugging them tight to her chest as she pulled her journal from her purse and started scribbling hurriedly to Michael and Anthony, scribbling Anthony's name out at the last minute, afraid he'd do something rash.
She knew, though, knew it was him. He had recognized her, he knew her, and she was sure he'd been the one to Obliviate her. It was him. It was him. It was him.