In the hushed silence of the night, where do our minds wander? Do we journey back in time? Do we drift into realms of fantasy, or do we dissolve into an infinite void of nothingness? The questions swirl around me like phantom whispers, only to be interrupted by the relentless beep-beep of my alarm clock, its digital eyes glaring at me with an almost sentient disapproval. “Why do you think so deeply?” it seems to scold, as if it could judge my very soul through its sterile, glowing face.I groaned, wrestling the blanket from my body with a sense of resignation. It’s true – I am trapped in my own thoughts. As I squeeze a thin ribbon of toothpaste onto my brush, I couldn’t help but wonder: Why do I dwell in the shadows of my thoughts? The question clung to me as I fumbled with my laces, the dim morning light casting shadows across the room. Why do I recoil from my own fears? The thought lingered as I opened my umbrella, a shield against the relentless drizzle. Each droplet that fell felt like a silent reminder of the things left unsaid.
Days have a way of blending together, each as dull and gray as the last. I sit at my desk, the soft hum of the office and the clattering of keyboards letting my mind drift. I enter the familiar world of my daydreams. There, in my imagination is Sarah. She twirls a finger through her curly hair, her eyes sparkling with mischief as they lock onto mine. She says hi, her voice is like music.
The illusion shatters with a splash of cold water. My boss stands over me, an empty glass in hand, his face twisted in anger. “Wake up!” he barks. I blink, the real world snapping back into focus. My boss. The presentation. Right. I nod, trying to look competent as he stomps away.
Hours tick by, the weight of the unfinished presentation growing heavier on my mind. It’s ready, of course, but presenting it? That’s another matter entirely. My tongue ties itself in knots, my palms growing clammy. As the clock strikes five, I begin packing up my things, hoping to slip out unnoticed. But he spots me, his face turning a dangerous shade of red. “Where’s the presentation?” he bellows.
My mouth opens but no sound comes out. He shakes his head, already moving on, muttering something. I shrug, half relieved, half guilty. He’ll assign it to someone else, like always.
Stepping onto the street, I raise my umbrella, the rain pattering against it like a thousand tiny fingers. When we die, where do we go? My thoughts return. Is there a heaven waiting for us, or perhaps a farm in the clouds, where ancestors gather to welcome us? Or is it just darkness, cold and silent? If that’s all there is, why do we fear it?
Lost in thought, I lower my umbrella, letting the rain soak into my hair and clothes. The cold stings my skin, but I welcome it. My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s my boss, probably calling to scold me again. Instead, I hear my own voice, steady and clear, telling him I’ve finished the presentation. Before he can respond, I hang up.
Across the street, beneath the awning of a small shop, stands Sarah. She’s huddled against the rain, her arms wrapped around herself for warmth. The rain has been relentless, drumming against the pavement. The world around me blurs into a haze but my focus is sharp on her, standing there across the street.
I’ve watched her from a distance for weeks now, each day growing more familiar with the subtle way she tucks her hair behind her ear or the gentle way she smiles. But, tonight, the rain washes away my reservations.
As I splash through puddles, each step feels like a defiant act. The cold water soaks through my shoes, but I barely notice. Her face is a mixture of frustration and melancholy.
I hold out my umbrella, the small gesture now feeling monumental. My hand trembles slightly as I extend it towards her, accompanied by a nervous smile. I worry she might refuse, but the thought of retreating now is unbearable.
And then, something shifts. The rain doesn’t seem so cold, the street is not so lonely. I take her hand, and together, we step out from under the awning. We start to move, slowly at first, then faster, twirling and laughing like children.
The rain cascades in torrents, but it barely registers. In the midst of the storm, I am alive and the weight of my hesitations dissolves into the air.
