She sat at her desk long after everyone else had left. The office lights above flickered slightly, humming like they, too, were tired of pretending.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, not typing. Just... breathing. Just existing.
Today had been one of those days — the kind where she showed up, smiled politely, answered emails, nodded during meetings. She played the part well. Nobody would have guessed how heavy her chest felt.
They didn’t see how much effort it took to say, “I’m fine.”
The world around her kept moving, demanding answers, expecting performance, praising productivity.
But inside her?
Everything had slowed down. Like walking through water.
She had spent so long trying to be strong. Trying to be professional. Polite. Composed. Unbothered.
But the truth was simple.
She wasn’t okay.
And for the first time in a long time… she admitted that to herself.
A quiet thought whispered in her heart — fragile, but freeing:
“Sometimes, it’s alright to not be alright.”
It wasn’t weakness.
It wasn’t failure.
It was truth.
She wasn’t giving up. She was just tired. And that, too, was human.
So, she stopped fighting it.
She let herself cry — not loudly, not dramatically. Just enough to feel the pressure soften. Just enough to remind herself that she was still real, still alive, still feeling.
When she finally stood to leave, the room felt lighter.
She hadn’t fixed anything.
She hadn’t solved the world.
But she had allowed herself a moment of honesty.
And maybe, that was enough for today.
