It was a small thing, almost easy to miss. The way the old shopkeeper at the corner handed back change, not by dropping the coins into the customer’s palm, but by placing them there gently and waiting a brief second longer than necessary. As if making sure the other person felt it, not just received it.
There comes a quiet season in many lives when the days look full from the outside but feel strangely uninhabited from within.
The calendar is neatly arranged. Meetings follow meetings. Messages arrive before the sun does and linger long after it has set. Tasks are completed, boxes are ticked, conversations are held. By evening, the body is tired and the mind has travelled through many rooms of activity.
Yet something gentle but essential feels missing.
