She sat on the floor by
the window, back against
the wall, watching dust
float through a beam of
afternoon light. The
house was quiet in that
particular way that felt
less like peace and more
like absence.
Her phone was face-down
on the carpet. She'd
stopped checking it an
hour ago, not because
she was practicing
mindfulness, but because
every notification felt
like a demand she
couldn't meet. The group
chats had moved on
without her. The work
emails sat unread.
Somewhere outside, people
were living their lives
at full volume, and she
was here, wrapped in a
silence so thick it
almost had texture.
But the sunlight didn't
care. It just fell
across her knees, warm
and indifferent, asking
nothing of her. Not to
be better. Not to
reply. Not to explain
why she felt hollow on a
perfectly ordinary
Tuesday.
She closed her eyes. The
dust kept dancing. The
afternoon kept being
afternoon. And for a few
minutes, that was
enough.