Morning light spilled through the cracked blinds, painting soft golden lines across the floor. Claire opened her eyes slowly, disoriented by the stillness. No yelling from the next room. No sirens screaming past a broken window. Just the muffled hum of the city outside, and the occasional creak of the old building stretching awake.
She didn't know what time it was. No alarm had jolted her up, no chaos had forced her to move. Her body felt stiff, but her chest didn't ache the way it usually did after a night of restless thoughts. For once, her mind hadn't been a battlefield.
Claire swung her legs over the side of the bed and glanced at the notebook still lying open on the desk. The words from the night before stared back at her. "Day 1. I am here". A small part of her wanted to laugh. It sounded so simple. But she knew it was everything.
The apartment was still empty-no sign of the women who let her stay, no messages left behind. Just a note on the fridge:
"Help yourself to tea. The world is easier to face with something warm in your hands".
Claire filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove, listening to it heat up. The cabinets held mismatched mugs, chipped but clean, like they'd seen things and still chose to be useful. She picked one with a faded sunflower on it.
As the steam rose and the tea steeped, Claire walked to the window and looked out. Below, people rushed along the sidewalks, holding phones, clutching coffee cups, chasing the morning. She didn't envy them. Not yet. She was still learning how to be still, how to breathe, how to belong to somewhere- even if that somewhere was just this little room with lukewarm tea and second chances.
Claire supped slowly and whispered to herself, "day 2. Still here".
And that was enough.