When the Past Walked In

I was halfway through my cup  of tea when the door creaked open—and in walked a ghost I thought I’d long since buried.

There they were: the person who once made my days feel smaller, my voice quieter. For a moment, it was like time collapsed. My pulse skipped, my hands paused mid-sip, and all the resilience I’d built since those days felt suddenly up for inspection.

What surprised me most wasn’t the sight of them. It was the fact that I didn’t shrink.

Years ago, a single word from them could coil around my ribs and squeeze. Today, standing just a few feet apart, I felt none of that. I didn’t need to glare, to speak, or to reclaim space I now knew had always been mine.

They looked... ordinary. Smaller than the shadow I’d built around them in memory. And I? I felt full-sized, grounded.

I didn’t say a word. Not out of fear—but because silence said more. It said, “You don’t live in me anymore.”

Walking away, I realised this wasn’t just a moment of closure—it was a milestone of growth. Sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do is simply exist untouched by the things that once unraveled us.

I heard the creaking door