I didn’t mean to stay long.
At least, that’s what I told myself as I stood in the quiet kitchen, listening for footsteps that never came. There’s a particular kind of silence in a place that isn’t empty—but waiting.
I glanced over my shoulder once, half-expecting someone to appear in the doorway.
No one did.
I should have left then.
But I didn’t.
The kettle had settled. The flame was out. The room held steady, as if it had completed its task and was now simply observing what I would do next.
- It's a quiet way to notice your life again.
- Things don't arrive all at once.
- Some pages take time.