The Light Sees Your Shaking Hands

The room is loud with laughter, but you are standing very still in the corner, holding a plate of food that has gone cold. Your hands are shaking so hard the fork clatters against the china, a tiny, betraying sound you pray no one else hears.

You are working so hard to look like you belong here, to look like the version of you that knows how to eat, how to smile, how to be steady. But inside, the tremor is everything.

The light does not ask you to put the fork down or to stop the shaking before it comes near. It stands beside you in the noise and sees the effort it takes to simply hold the plate.

You do not have to steady your hands to be loved. The light is not afraid of your tremor.

It is the only thing in the room that does not require you to perform.