Morning should feel familiar.
It doesn't.
I stand in my hallway staring at the empty hook where my keys should be. I always put them there. Always. I check the counter, the bedroom, the floor. Nothing.
I find them eventually — inside a jacket I didn't wear yesterday.
I don't remember putting them there.
I don't remember much of the morning at all.
It shouldn't bother me this much. It does.
Keep moving. Don't think too hard.
I leave the apartment feeling like I'm already late for something I never prepared for.
The elevator ride makes it worse.
Two coworkers are talking when I step in — voices low, tight. The moment they see me, everything goes silent. One gives me a thin smile, the kind that apologizes for something they're not saying.
"You worked with Jimmy, right?" the other asks.
"Yeah," I say. "Sometimes."
They exchange a look — quick, unreadable, heavy.
The doors open before they can ask more.
I step out too fast, almost stumbling. I just want out of that little box before the air gets any tighter.
The office feels wrong the moment I walk in.
Jimmy's desk is a mess — papers everywhere, a drawer half-open, a mug with dried coffee clinging to the sides. He never left a single thing out of place. His desk used to look untouched, almost staged. Now it looks… abandoned.
I stare at it for a second, then look away. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to ask anyone what happened. I just want to sit down and do something familiar. Something routine.
I don't get the chance.
Ryan walks up before I even log in.
"Have you seen Jimmy lately?"
"No, I haven't."
"He hasn't been to work in a few days, and we need a file from him. You two were collaborating last week, right?"
"No. Not recently."
The whole conversation feels like pressure on my chest. He's watching my face too closely. Measuring pauses, reading reactions. I force a small shrug, hoping it ends the whole thing.
Ryan hesitates, then backs off. "Alright. Let me know if you hear anything."
Only when he leaves do I let myself breathe properly.
Lunch comes, and hunger doesn't help.
I take out my food like I do every day. Normally I eat at my desk — safe, predictable, quiet. Today I pause. For a second, I actually think about going to heat it. Maybe stepping away will help. Maybe walking out of this tension will loosen something.
I stand.
Take a step.
Another.
People glance at me. Conversations fade or change direction as I pass — not about me, but close enough that my mind stitches everything together in the worst possible way.
Why is everyone suddenly noticing me?
My throat tightens.
I turn around before reaching the break area.
I walk back faster than I should, like something might break if I stay out there any longer.
I sit down and eat the food cold.
My thoughts spiral in circles.
Why didn't I notice Jimmy acting weirdly? What happened to his desk? Why is everyone acting different today? What did I miss?
Every question sticks to the next, forming knots I can't untangle.
Elena passes by in the afternoon.
She doesn't slow down.
Doesn't look at me directly.
Just says, quietly:
"People notice more than you think."
I freeze.
By the time I turn my head, she's already far down the aisle, focused on her screen or pretending to be.
What did she mean?
Me? Jimmy? Something else?
I try to replay her tone, her steps, her timing — but everything blurs. My memory bends it into whatever shape my fear wants.
Doubt spreads like a leak inside my skull.
I don't trust what I'm seeing.
Or what I'm not seeing.
Not today.
Maybe not anymore.
I leave early.
Not by much — just enough to feel like I made a choice.
Outside, the air feels heavy, thicker than the office.
I stop a few steps away from the doors and try to recognize the pattern of my own day.
I can't.
Nothing feels familiar.
Nothing feels like it belongs to me.
I step outside, feeling the shape of a day I no longer recognize.
The routine isn't waiting for me.
Maybe it never was.