LOGINThe next morning, the building felt different.Not dramatically—just lighter, almost as if the hallways themselves were waking up with me. I stepped outside my apartment with a mug of tea in hand, planning to retrieve a package that had been misdelivered downstairs. The hallway carried the smell of brewed coffee, dryer sheets, and spring air drifting in through the stairwell windows.As I rounded the corner, I nearly collided with someone.“Whoa—sorry!” Mark said, catching himself with one hand braced against the wall. His other hand hovered near me instinctively, steadying without touching. We both froze for a heartbeat, startled and laughing softly at the near-miss.I held up my mug. “Tea emergency.”He lifted the envelope in his hand. “Rent emergency.”We laughed again. A comfortable sound. A familiar one.He was dressed casually—dark joggers, a soft gray T-shirt that looked like it had survived years of favorite-shirt status, hair still damp from a quick shower. There was somethin
The next morning began differently. It didn't begin with dread tightening my ribs or the weight of yesterday pressing down on my chest—just a quiet, steady sense of… possibility. A small one, but real enough to feel.Sunlight slipped through the blinds in thin gold ribbons. Instead of rolling over and hiding from it, I sat up slowly, letting the warmth touch my face. It was strange how unfamiliar simple things had become. The sunlight. Morning. A day that didn’t start with chaos.I stretched—awkwardly, stiff, but determined and moved through the apartment with the quiet intention of someone trying to reacquaint themselves with life.The first step of rebuilding: routine.Something I could touch, structure, rely on.I made coffee. A real breakfast—eggs, toast, slices of tomato. I washed the dishes afterward, then opened all the windows so the apartment could breathe with me.The next step: job applications.My laptop hummed to life, the screen glowing too bright at first. The last time
The next morning began differently than I expected.I didn’t wake up with heaviness.I didn’t wake up with panic.I didn’t wake up with the quiet, spinning dread that had crouched in the corners of my mind for days.I woke up … slowly.Warm.My cheek was pressed to the pillow instead of the couch. I must’ve dragged myself to bed sometime after the world outside went dark, though I didn’t remember doing it. The sunlight filtering through my curtains painted the room in soft gold, catching the edges of the dresser, glinting off a forgotten glass of water on the nightstand.I lay there for a moment, breathing quietly, listening to the gentle hush of morning. No alarms. No responsibilities tugging at me. No frantic thoughts demanding attention.Just a quiet sense of… okay.I stretched beneath the covers, feeling the slight pleasant ache in my muscles from yesterday’s cleaning spree. A real ache. The kind that had nothing to do with stress.My phone rested beside the lamp, still powered of
I woke up with my cheek pressed against the couch cushion, the fabric was warm from where my body had sunk into it overnight. For a few seconds, I didn’t move. I didn’t even breathe properly. I just listened to the quiet, to the faint hum of the refrigerator, to the thin morning light nudging its way between the blinds.My head felt heavy, but not in the same way it had for days. It wasn’t confusion or the fog of exhaustion. It was… softness. A kind of weight that didn’t crush me. It just reminded me that I was still here.Yesterday’s conversation with the security guard lingered like a hand on my shoulder. Not a reprimand. Not a warning.Just concern.Someone had seen me, really seen me and instead of recoiling or snapping or demanding something from me, they’d simply asked if I was okay.And for the first time in a long time… I hadn’t lied.I shifted on the couch and felt my spine protest. My clothes were wrinkled, my hair was pulled into a frizzy knot at the base of my neck. I prob
I lost count of the days after the meeting. They folded into one another like pages that had been left out in the rain. They were soft, colorless and impossible to separate. At first, I told myself I was just catching my breath. I’d make coffee, open my laptop, and promise that tomorrow I’d start looking for work again. But the laptop stayed shut, the coffee went cold, and I kept finding reasons to step outside instead. The air felt easier than my apartment did.Sometimes I’d wander to the corner store. Sometimes I’d walk nowhere in particular, only to realize that my feet had taken me back toward the same block again. It became a pattern I didn’t name, a rhythm my body learned on its own. I’d linger near the building where Mark lived, watching people come and go. I told myself I was just walking. Just stretching my legs. But the longer I stood there, the harder it was to believe that lie.Evenings were worse. The city would settle into its warm, humming quiet, and I’d sit by my windo
Monday arrived like a noise I couldn’t turn down. I woke up late again, my stomach was twisting with dread. The clock on my nightstand flashed 9:42 AM. I was supposed to have been at the office an hour ago. For a long moment, I just sat there with the sheets tangled around my legs, the smell of stale coffee hanging in the air. I told myself to move, to get dressed, to at least try. But the effort of pretending normal had grown too heavy. When I finally reached the office, everyone was already moving at that brisk, caffeinated pace that used to feel familiar. I slipped to my desk, trying to look invisible, but the moment I sat down, I knew it was useless.My manager appeared almost immediately. “Can we talk?” he asked quietly, too politely.The walk to the conference room felt longer than usual. My heart thudded like footsteps echoing behind me. Inside the conference room, the blinds were drawn halfway, streaks of light cutting across the table. My manager sat at one end, another super







