Rachel's Hard at Work

The office was quiet, the kind of quiet that made the tick of a wall clock sound like a hammer. Afternoon sunlight poured through the blinds in narrow gold stripes, painting her desk in light and shadow. The hum of the city below was distant, like a forgotten memory.

She leaned back in her chair, eyes closed, exhaling slowly. The tension of the day pooled at the base of her spine and radiated outward — dull, warm, insistent. The pressure behind her temples finally broke like a storm giving way to rain.

A gasp escaped her, unbidden, as something deep inside her unclenched. The sound echoed softly off the glass partitions, curling around the edges of the room like smoke. Her breath caught, then came again — staggered, sharper. It was relief, release, a wild and private moment wrapped in steel and drywall.

She didn’t move. Just let herself feel. The cool air kissed her skin; the polished desk beneath her hand felt like marble. Outside, someone coughed in a hallway. Inside, her heartbeat was thunder.