The Blue Light in an Empty Kitchen

Dear Delyara, It’s 2:15 AM, and the only illumination in my entire flat is the harsh blue glow from the open refrigerator door. I’m standing here in my socks, staring at a half-empty carton of milk and a jar of pickles, not because I’m hungry, but because the light makes me feel less alone. The quiet of this apartment after a long shift is suffocating. I spent twelve hours tonight interacting with hundreds of people, managing conflicts, and maintaining a professional posture, but the second I turn the key in my own front door, the silence hits me like a physical blow. Nobody is waiting up for me. No one cares if I made it home safely. I’m writing this down on the back of a receipt just to break the stillness, to prove to the empty walls that my voice still exists in the dark.