The evening had wrapped itself around the world like a velvet curtain, and the fading light of the sun dipped slowly beneath the horizon. A soft breeze stirred the air, bringing with it the scent of blooming jasmine from the garden below. On her balcony, she sat, the coolness of the wrought-iron chair pressing against her skin as she leaned back, lost in her thoughts.
The city below hummed with life, yet up here, it was quiet, almost serene. The muted colors of twilight reflected in her eyes, her gaze distant and unfocused, as though she were seeing something beyond the world around her—something only she could touch. A gentle sigh escaped her lips, her fingers tracing the edge of her coffee mug, but it was cold now, forgotten.
Her mind drifted like the clouds overhead, wandering through memories, each one like a soft flicker of light, a whisper of something once vivid, now slipping into shadow. She could almost feel the warmth of old days, the echo of laughter, the sharp sting of loss—everything interwoven in the tapestry of time. Yet, in this moment, none of it seemed to matter. There was peace in the stillness, a kind of acceptance in the quiet space between thoughts.
The night was creeping closer, and the stars were beginning to peek through the deepening sky. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the evening wash over her—calm, yet full of unspoken things. A soft murmur of wind, a distant call of an evening bird, the rustle of leaves in the trees—these were the only sounds now, and they seemed to speak to her more than any words could.
She stayed there, long after the world below had dimmed to shadows, her thoughts as scattered and fleeting as the stars above.
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