clock struck something soft. maybe four. maybe forever. the scarf remained on the chair untouched, untangled, unclaimed. laughter once lived here. It left behind echoes in cups half full. a train passed. no one waved. the song played twice. No one danced. steam rose from the chai like a sigh that didn’t belong to anyone. eyes didn’t meet. roads did. the sky forgot to rain that day but the air was soaked in things unsaid. a bag packed itself with silence. a door closed slowly. intentionally. not a goodbye. not a stay. just… a pause stretched too long. the scent of detachment lingered on every book spine. names erased themselves from notifications. a hoodie sat on the shelf, holding warmth that refused to fade. shoes faced the door. the floor forgot their weight. no promises. no poetry. only presence turned absence. nothing shattered. yet everything changed. and somewhere, in the static between missed calls and unread drafts -someone slipped away.
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