She had walked this
hallway a hundred times,
but tonight it felt like
someone else's memory
projected onto hers. The
walls were the same
color, the same scuff
marks near the baseboard,
the same light switch
that always took two
tries. But something
about the way the
floorboards creaked under
her feet made her wonder
if she had ever really
been the one walking
here, or just the
version of herself that
had learned the route
well enough to stop
questioning it. She
paused at the bathroom
door. Her reflection
looked back with the same
uncertainty she carried at
seventeen. She wondered
if doubt was something
you grew out of, or
something you simply
learned to stop naming.