Her gaze was stuck on the door, as still as a stone, as if she hoped to pass right through it, believing the wood might allow it. The light in the hallway blinked behind her, but she stayed unchanged. On the other side: quiet. The type of silence filled with unvoiced thoughts.
She wasn't tapping. Not at this point. Just… waiting. Listening. Remembering the last time it slammed shut. The words hit harder than they ever could.
Her pulse throbbed where skin touched wood. A calm beat, a silent wish. Would he answer? Was it possible?
Doors are strange objects: one moment they are wide open, and the next they are impossible to get through. They connect the choices of leaving and coming back, courage and failure.
And so she lingered, her forehead against the door, breathing lightly, caught in that fragile moment just before knocking... Because sometimes, the mind rests where the heart still yearns.