I woke up to darkness — the kind that feels heavy and endless. My room has no window but the soft hum of rain whispering somewhere beyond the walls. I couldn’t see the world outside, but I could feel it — cold, gray, and half-asleep.
Since our classes are asynchronous today, I decided to get up anyway. I made myself a cup of coffee — its warmth blooming softly in the silence — and began my small rituals: cleaning, moving through the house like it was still dreaming. Breakfast came and went quietly, as if time itself was taking slow breaths.
The day stretched long and soundless. No teacher appeared online, and the hours just wandered by. To escape the stillness, I watched anime — letting fictional worlds fill the empty spaces in mine — until my eyelids grew heavy and sleep took over.
When I woke, the light had shifted; I could tell from the faint change in air. I went straight to the kitchen to prepare dinner, the smell of rice and rain blending together like an old song. After eating, I opened my notes and started making my reviewer. I promised myself I’d stay up late tonight — to study, to prepare, to fight the drowsiness that always finds me. Exams await tomorrow, and I can’t let myself fall short.
That’s how the day moved — quiet, gray, and gentle in its loneliness. And maybe that’s okay — to rest in the stillness, to simply exist, softly, within the silence.