Annextnx
The ceiling fan spun in slow, lazy circles above her head. Outside, the world was silent-too silent for a Saturday morning in Tokyo. Even the usual barking of the neighbor's dog was absent, like the entire block had collectively agreed to hold its breath.
Golden morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, painting soft patterns across the wooden floor. Dust particles drifted in the beams like tiny ghosts, aimless and suspended in time. The air was thick with stillness, carrying the faint scent of tatami mats and last night's rain. In the quiet, even her own breath felt too loud-each inhale a ripple in a glassy pond. Somewhere in the distance, a cicada buzzed half-heartedly, then stopped, as if reconsidering its decision to announce the day.