A whole week passed in the blink of an eye—so quickly, so lightly, so quietly that it almost frightened me.
I would sometimes sit in the corner of my room, staring at the window and wondering whether time had truly moved forward or whether everything around me had blurred together into one warm, golden dream.
Perhaps it felt so fast because it had been a wonderful week for someone like me—someone who had never, not even once in her life, tasted something called happiness.
I had never known the softness of living without fear, or the comfort of having someone who cared about me simply because they wanted to—not because they needed something from me.
So for me, a week of real affection… a week of not feeling like a burden or an afterthought… a week of not crying myself to sleep… it felt unreal. Impossible. Like a stolen miracle I wasn't supposed to touch.
Maybe that was why I didn't feel the passage of time. I didn't feel boredom, or loneliness, or any negative emotion at all.
