short fiction · 2026-10-17

The Trace Returns (Draft)

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In the hallway of the empty house, a thin line of dust lay upon the banister, the only sign that a hand had rested there. It was not a mark of wear, but a pause, a breath held in the grain. When the wind stirred the old curtains, the line seemed to tremble, as if the house remembered the warmth that had left it. I traced it with my fingertip, and the past returned, not as a vision, but as a quiet certainty that some touches never fully fade.