The first change wasn't dramatic.
It was timing.
Ha-rin woke later than usual.
Not because she wanted to — because getting up took longer. She sat on the edge of the bed for a few extra seconds, steadying herself before standing.
"…This is annoying," she muttered.
"Yes," I replied from the doorway.
She looked up, mildly offended.
"You weren't even here yesterday."
"I was observing a pattern."
"…You're insufferable."
She stood carefully, brushing it off like it didn't matter.
But it did.
Breakfast stretched longer too.
Not because she ate more.
Because she ate slower.
"…I used to finish this in five minutes," she said.
"Speed is not required," I replied.
"…It's efficient."
"Efficiency is not always sustainable."
She gave me a look that suggested she disagreed — but didn't argue.
Later, while walking from the living room to the kitchen, she stopped halfway.
Not in pain.
Just… recalibrating.
"…I hate this," she said.
"What part," I asked.
"…Needing to think about things I never had to think about before."
"That is adaptation," I replied.
"…It feels like losing."
"No," I said. "It is redistribution."
She stared at me.
"…You make everything sound like a spreadsheet."
"That is intentional."
She laughed quietly despite herself.
By afternoon, even sitting upright for long periods seemed less comfortable. She shifted positions more often now, stretching, adjusting.
Not complaining.
Just managing.
"…I thought this would be later," she admitted.
"Bodies rarely follow expectations," I replied.
"…Mine used to."
"Your schedule did," I said. "Not your body."
She didn't answer.
Instead, she leaned back into the sofa and closed her eyes for a moment.
"…I'm not weak," she said suddenly.
"I did not say that."
"…It feels like it."
"It is change," I replied. "Not weakness."
She opened one eye.
"…You really believe that."
"Yes."
She exhaled slowly.
"…I used to measure days by what I accomplished."
"Yes."
"…Now it's by what I didn't overdo."
"That is still accomplishment," I said.
She considered that.
"…It doesn't feel impressive."
"It is not meant to be," I replied. "It is meant to be sustainable."
She fell quiet.
Outside, the city moved as usual.
Inside, the pace had shifted.
Later that evening, she stood by the window again.
"…I'm not falling behind," she said.
"No."
"…I'm just moving differently."
"Yes."
She nodded once.
"…Okay," she said. "…I can live with that."
And for the first time, slowing down didn't feel like losing