She Stopped Explaining One Day, and Something Quietly Shifted
She did not answer. The room waited longer than it should have. Someone cleared their throat. Her phone stayed face down. After a moment, the conversation moved on without her. No one asked again. She used to fill silences like that. Quick explanations. Small smiles. A sentence that started with “I just meant—” That day, she did not reach for any of it. At lunch, a coworker glanced at her tray. Paused. Then chose a different table. Later, in a meeting, someone spoke over her. She stopped mid-breath. Let the words pass through the air like they were not hers to fight for. Her notebook stayed open. The pen never moved. It was strange how quiet made people restless. How eyes kept checking her face, as if waiting for a correction that never came. In the hallway, someone finally asked, “Are you okay?” She nodded once. Nothing more. The question felt unfinished, hanging there between them. They smiled too quickly and walked away. By the end of the week, people spoke to her differently. Slowe...