Enough for Today
For a heartbeat he remained there, hand still resting against the pane, as if part of him hadn't quite let go of the night yet. Then he turned away and moved toward the small table. His stomach wasn't growling, but there was a hollow ache beneath his ribs—fatigue, not hunger, the kind that came from carrying too much for too long. He lowered himself into the chair, and the wood creaked under his weight, a quiet, ordinary sound that felt strangely grounding.
He tore off a piece of bread, dipped it into the steaming broth, and brought it to his mouth. The first bite was gentle and warm. Simple. Good. He chewed slowly, eyes unfocused, letting the silence settle around him as if it were something solid. For once, there was nothing he had to decide, no crisis waiting at the edge of his thoughts—just the steady comfort of heat and taste spreading through him.
