As I scrub the last stretch of the corridor, I see the administrative board gathering through a glass panel.
They’re talking animatedly, papers rustling, expressions tense.
I can’t hear the words, but the urgency is palpable.
It’s about the cuts, I’m sure.
I hesitate outside the door, my hand lingering on the handle.
To walk in would be to reveal everything, to face the backlash of decisions made in isolation.
But to stay out here is to continue hiding, to let the disconnect grow.
I step back, leaning against the wall, my breath shallow.
A part of me longs to step inside, to bridge the gap between us.
Yet, fear roots me in place.
What if they don’t see me as I wish to be seen?
What if this only confirms the loneliness I feel?
I watch through the glass, the debate inside growing more heated.
Each gesture, every nod, a reminder of the power dynamics at play.
The clock ticks, time slipping through my fingers.
This moment, this choice—it feels pivotal.
But the courage to act eludes me.
Maybe tomorrow will be different.
Maybe then, I’ll find the words to bridge the silence.
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