short fiction · 2026-10-18

Whispers in the Stillness

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In the hush between heartbeats, memory settles like dust on a windowsill— not gone, but waiting for a breath to stir it. I recall the scent of pine after rain, the way your hand hovered, never quite touching mine, and the silence that followed, thick as wool, holding the echo of a laugh that never left the room. Each quiet moment is a shelf, and on it sit the things we never said, soft-spoken, half‑remembered, still warm from the holding.