She wakes before the alarm.She always does.
It's not insomnia.It's just her body remembering that there's no point in waiting to be woken up. No one calls her name. No arms reach for her. No lips brush against her shoulder whispering "stay five more minutes."
So she gets up.
The apartment is quiet in that heavy kind of way, like the stillness after a storm that never really came.
She pads into the kitchen, barefoot, careful not to let her anklet chime. There's no one here to hear it, but still.. old habits.
She fills the kettle with water. Waits for it to boil. Fills a single mug.The cupboard has two.She always keeps the second one.Just in case.
She doesn't turn on music or TV. The silence has become familiar, like a companion that doesn't speak but always stays.
She scrolls through her phone. Work notifications, discount ads, a message from her mother asking if she ate, followed by a forwarded prayer image from two years ago.
She doesn't respond.Not yet.
She sips her tea and stares at the faint stain on the wall across the kitchen table. She's thought about repainting. She never does.
She has meetings later. Deadlines. A deliverable her manager will never appreciate because someone louder will interrupt halfway and take the credit.
She's used to that too.
Sometimes, while brushing her hair, she wonders what it would be like to be noticed.Not stared at.Not judged.Just… seen. For once.
Her hand touches her face in the mirror. No makeup today. Not that it ever made a difference.
She doesn't hate her reflection.She just doesn't feel connected to it.Like watching a woman trapped in a photo frame that no one dusts anymore.
She gets dressed. The same corporate armor.
Her phone lights up."Morning team. Let's crush it today!"
She stares at the message for a second, then pastes a smiley emoji in response.That's what she's good at...pasting.
And so, like every other morning,she steps out the doornot to chase dreams,not to fall in love,but to continue.
Because that's what she does.She continues.
Even when no one sees her.
Even when it hurts.
Even when it doesn't make sense anymore.