She had walked past the
same corner three times
that afternoon, not
because she was lost,
but because the route
home required a decision
she had not finished
making.
Each time she turned,
the street asked her
something subtle — not
where she was going, but
whether she had decided
to be the person who was
going there.
She stood beneath the
bakery sign for a long
while, watching a woman
carry a paper bag across
the street like it was
the easiest thing in the
world. The woman did not
look back. She did not
look forward either. She
simply walked, and
somehow the walking was
enough.
When the light changed,
the girl crossed too.
Not because she knew
where she was going, but
because remaining on the
corner had started to
feel like a louder answer
than the one she was
avoiding.