At minute 52, the bulb dimmed. The floorboards creaked. And I understood what stands for. (But again, I’m not allowed to say.)
What I can tell you is that the silence in that room isn’t empty. It’s a substance. It pressed against my eardrums like deep ocean water. My thoughts—usually a chaotic swarm of to-do lists and regrets—slowed to a crawl, then stopped entirely.
By the time I reached the third floor landing, my heart was doing something between a waltz and a warning. The hallway light flickered in a rhythm that felt almost intentional. Morse code for turn back ? Or welcome home ?