She closed the door and
stood in the hallway
longer than she needed
to. The apartment was
quiet in a way that felt
borrowed, like a library
after hours. She had
meant to go back inside,
make tea, answer the
email from Tuesday.
Instead she stayed,
forehead against the cool
wood, listening to the
refrigerator hum two rooms
away.
There was no reason.
Nothing had happened.
That was the part she
could not explain to
anyone — not even the
version of herself that
would wake tomorrow and
pretend this moment never
occurred. The door was
closed. The hallway held
her. That was enough,
for now, to be somewhere
without having to be
anyone in particular.