The city never slept. It was a constant hum, a tide that surged through narrow streets and tall buildings, its energy always shifting, always pulsing with life. Enyo had never quite gotten used to it. The noise, the movement, the speed—everything felt so rushed, as though everyone had somewhere to be, something to do, and no time to waste.
She stood on the crowded sidewalk, her eyes catching flashes of people rushing by. Women in high heels clicked past her, their expressions determined, their eyes fixed on the path ahead. Men in sharp suits moved with a similar urgency, as if each step they took had to be timed perfectly, every second a race against the clock.
Enyo, by contrast, moved slowly through the streets, almost as if she were drifting, letting the world around her move without her. She didn't mind. She wasn't in a hurry. She had never been in a hurry.
The city was overwhelming, no matter how many years she had lived here. It was full of life, but it was so loud, so fast, so much of everything. The people were loud, their voices echoing against the concrete, bouncing off the glass towers that rose high above the streets. The cars honked, the buses screeched to a halt, and the blaring advertisements on the sides of buildings flashed images that seemed to demand her attention.
But Enyo didn't rush. She never did. She preferred to observe. To stand in the midst of the chaos and simply watch. It wasn't that she didn't have goals or dreams—she did—but she couldn't help but notice the madness around her. The constant pressure to move forward, to push harder, to do more. It was exhausting.
She had learned to carve out her space in this city, to find the moments of stillness that most people overlooked. As a child, she had found peace in the quiet moments, in the spaces where time seemed to slow down. But here, in the city, those moments were few and far between. The noise was always there, the rush, the demands, the expectations.
Enyo pulled her scarf tighter around her neck as the wind began to bite, and she stepped into a small café tucked between two high-rise buildings. The bell above the door chimed softly, and the barista behind the counter gave her a polite nod. She didn't need to say much. The routine was familiar by now—order a cup of tea, find a quiet corner, and watch the world go by.
The café was warm and smelled of freshly brewed coffee, the steam rising from the cups in delicate spirals. Enyo sat by the window, her eyes wandering to the bustling street outside. People rushed past, their faces blurred, their steps hurried. It seemed like everyone had somewhere to be, yet no one seemed to notice each other. No one saw the quiet girl in the corner of the café, her eyes following every movement with an almost detached curiosity.
For a moment, she felt like an outsider, watching a world that didn't notice her, a world that seemed to move without her. And yet, there was a certain comfort in it. In the way she could be present without being part of the noise.
The city was full of stories—so many untold, so many lost in the rush of life. She had learned early on that people didn't look for depth here. They didn't take the time to stop and think about why they did what they did. Everything was about getting from point A to point B. The faster, the better.
But Enyo wasn't like them. She had learned to slow down, to listen, to observe. It was the one thing that set her apart from the sea of faces that moved past her every day. She saw things others didn't.
"Can I get you anything else?" the barista asked, breaking her thoughts. Enyo looked up, a faint smile crossing her lips.
"No, thank you," she said softly, shaking her head. "Just this."
The barista nodded and moved off to help the next customer. Enyo's gaze returned to the window, to the city outside. The sun had begun to set, casting a warm glow over the buildings, but the streets below remained as busy as ever. Cars honked, people shouted into their phones, and the lights of the city flickered on one by one.
It was all moving so fast.
Enyo sipped her tea slowly, savoring the warmth. She wasn't sure what she was waiting for, but she knew it was something. Something that would come to her, just as the snail had come to her when she was younger. It would come in its own time, at its own pace. She would wait for it.
And when it arrived, she would be ready.