Sunday evening. The speakers filled the room with music that made me move without thinking hips swaying, shoulders light even as I dusted shelves and folded shirts.
This apartment costs me a fortune, but it's worth it. I don't want to waste a single inch of its space or ruin the quiet aesthetic I've built. If I'm going to live here, I want to really live organized, happy, with every little corner mine alone, untouched by interference.
By the time I was finished, the place felt lighter. I bathed, slipped into fresh clothes, and stretched out on my bed, a quiet satisfaction settling into my chest.
Then the phone rang.
I didn't want to pick up it felt like a jarring knock at the door of my peace but I answered anyway.
"Hellooo."
"Oh hi, how are you?"
"Good, good."
"Aaah, so listen I forgot to get my credit card back. Just wanted to say, don't forget to bring it tomorrow."
"Yes, yes."
"Thank you. Bye."
The line clicked dead.
I dropped the phone on the bed, my pulse rising. The credit card. She'd handed it to me at the spa earlier, just for a moment, while she washed her hands. Somehow I'd walked out with it.
And now?
I tore through the room, neatness forgotten. Drawers slammed open, clothes spilled across the floor, books toppled in little avalanches. The sound of rustling fabric and clattering objects filled the air, sharp against the silence I'd worked so hard to build.
My chest tightened. What if I'd lost it? What if it was gone for good? The thought pressed heavier with each frantic movement. I checked the desk, the shelves, the bag, even the laundry basket nothing.
Panic pulsed at my temples. My hands shook as I shoved pillows aside, convinced I'd have to explain the unexplainable tomorrow.
And then ridiculous, almost cruel I slipped my hand into my pocket. There it was. The card. Waiting, silent, as if it had been laughing at me the whole time.
Classic. Of course it had to be the pocket. It was always the pocket.
Relief washed through me. I set the card carefully on top of my bag so I wouldn't forget it in the morning.
Only then did I look up. My room was wrecked again, chaos layered over the calm I had worked so hard to create. Every nerve in my body prickled, as if sharp pins had been pressed into my skin.
Why did I even bother?
Maybe my life was the same. Cleaned, straightened, put in order until one sudden interruption scattered everything again. No matter how carefully I arranged it, the mess always found its way back.