A Little Episode of Giving Up

A sudden downpour trapped her in her rented apartment. She turned off her phone, carried a little stool to the window, and sat listening to the rain. Raindrops drummed against the awning, water trails streamed down the glass, and the streetlights cast a warm golden glow through the mist. There were no notification pop-ups, no social engagements. The room held only her and a lamp. She brewed a pot of tea, opened a book that had been set aside for ages, and casually wrote down the little details outside her window. That night, for the first time, she felt that being alone wasn't loneliness, but a "get-out-of-work-free pass" from the sound of the rain. It turned out she didn't have to stay tense every moment. Being forgotten by the world now and then could be a gentle kind of salvation.