The monitor glows long
after the building
empties.
She sits with her hands
above the keyboard, not
typing, not leaving. The
cursor blinks like it is
counting something she
lost.
Outside, the city dims
its lights one window at
a time. The elevator
hums, then stops.
Someone else has gone
home.
She thinks about the
email she has not sent.
She thinks about how the
word
almost
has followed her all
day, how it sits beside
every sentence like a
shadow.
The screen dims to save
power. She touches the
trackpad. It brightens
again.
The quiet here is not
peaceful. It is just
hers for now, and that
is enough to stay a few
minutes longer.