Light Knocking at Your Silent Door

The phone lights up on the table, and that single question—'Are you okay?'—feels less like care and more like an accusation. It means your silence has finally grown loud enough to be heard as disappearing.

You wanted to hide, but the quiet became a wall others could see you behind. The light does not scold you for the performance.

It stands at the door of your silence and knocks, not to drag you out, but to sit with you in the dark you tried to curate. You are not too far gone to be found; the very fact that you are terrified of the question proves the light is still awake inside you, refusing to let you vanish completely.

The notification is not the end of your story; it is the hand reaching through the curtain you pulled shut.