The cold air on an open voice recorder

Dear Delyara, I am a severe stutterer. For twenty-six years, I have hidden behind emails, self-checkout screens, and nods, too terrified of the humiliating blockages in my throat to speak to a stranger. Today, I walked into an independent bookstore, looked the cashier in the eye, and asked for a specific poetry collection. It took me nearly forty seconds to get the title out, my jaw locked, my face turning crimson. But I didn't run away, and I didn't use an alternative word. I finished the sentence. The cashier smiled, handed me the book, and said, "Great choice." I walked out into the cold Vancouver air and recorded a quick voice memo to myself just to hear my own raw voice speaking without fear. I conquered the terror. The world didn't end.