The front door clicks shut behind her, keys drop onto the console table with a dull clatter, and silence fills the space once again. Not the kind that soothes, but the kind that reminds her of emptiness.
The evening wasn’t bad. In fact, it was good, objectively speaking. Board games are her element. She outplayed everyone, calculated her moves strategically, led each game to victory with ease. There were moments of excitement, even laughter, and perhaps the thrill of triumph still lingers faintly in her blood. But the moment she stepped over the threshold, all of it faded, leaving only a light weariness.
She slowly walks to the bedroom, dims the lights out of habit, pulls off her sweater, and burrows under the blanket. Her gaze drifts across the room - everything is in its place, just as it always is, and only the tulips still bring a touch of warmth to her eyes.
Her hand reaches for the e-reader. It’s right there, waiting, as if it had been expecting her. The text pulls her in instantly, like water, like a current that can drown her if she tries to hold on to reality. But she doesn’t want to. She turns page after page, follows the characters, catches the rhythm of the phrases, and the noise inside her quiets.
She knows that the moment she looks away, everything will come rushing back. Everything that scratches at her soul, that makes the air feel heavier and the loneliness louder. But as long as the letters keep replacing one another, as long as she loses herself in the story, none of it exists.