Chapter: Something Is Shifting

That night, I came home with an old book in my backpack, the scent of the book fair still clinging to my clothes, and a soft calm settled in my chest.

I dropped the keys on the table, as always. Turned on a dim light and poured myself some tea. I didn't feel the urge to run to the shower and cry. The silence didn't feel so heavy anymore.

I sat cross-legged on the bed with the book about astronaut cats resting on my knees. I opened it at random, just to laugh a little more. There was an illustration of a cat with a helmet and a lost expression, floating through space. The poem said something ridiculous about getting lost in the Milky Way while chasing a butterfly.

I laughed to myself. A short, incredulous laugh. But honest.

And then, I felt it. Something. Small, almost imperceptible. Like when a toothache suddenly vanishes and you can't quite tell when it stopped hurting.

My chest wasn't pounding so hard. The tears weren't resting on the surface anymore. And Tom's memory was still there, but it didn't feel like a thorn. More like... an old photograph. One you can look at with tenderness, without falling apart.

I lay down and turned off the light. The room didn't feel so empty this time.

I stared at the ceiling for a while, heart steady. Not happy, not yet. But at peace. And that was enough for now.

I closed my eyes, and just before falling asleep, I told myself something quietly, like I was locking the thought away for the hard days ahead:

You're starting to heal. And you didn't even notice.