Enyo's footsteps echoed softly in the quiet hallway of her apartment building as she made her way toward the elevator. It was a small, slightly worn-out building, but it was hers. She liked the simplicity of it, the way the worn carpet didn't pretend to be anything it wasn't. The creaks of the walls, the faded wallpaper, the quiet hum of the elevator—these were the sounds of her life, and they gave her a strange sense of comfort. There was no rush here. No overwhelming noise.
As the elevator doors opened with a soft ding, she stepped inside and pressed the button for the ground floor. The elevator moved slowly, as if it, too, had no reason to hurry. Enyo leaned against the cool metal wall, her eyes drifting to the small cracks in the ceiling that she had never bothered to fix. The city outside was already alive, but here, in this small space, time seemed to stretch out. She liked it that way.
The doors opened, and she stepped into the bustling lobby of the building. The ground floor was always full of people in the mornings, heading out to work, to appointments, to the endless errands that filled their days. But Enyo never rushed. She walked slowly, taking in the rhythm of the world around her.
The world outside was different from her building. The streets were full of people, their faces blurred by the speed of their steps. Everyone was in a hurry, but no one seemed to see each other. The noise was deafening—the honking cars, the chatter of pedestrians, the music blaring from passing taxis. It was a constant, overwhelming symphony of sound. But Enyo moved through it like she was in a world of her own, her steps quiet, her thoughts distant.
As she walked toward the café, a familiar face appeared in the crowd. It was James, the young man who worked at the bookstore just down the street. He was always in a hurry, always moving with purpose. His quick steps, the way his head was always bent toward his phone—it was as if he was perpetually caught up in the current of the city. Enyo had seen him countless times, always in the same rush, always with a distant look on his face.
Today, he was talking to someone, a fellow bookstore employee, as they made their way down the sidewalk. Enyo watched them for a moment, her eyes following their movements. They were both speaking rapidly, their conversation like a blur of words in the air. The sound of their voices, though louder than most, seemed to carry no weight, as if they were just part of the background noise that filled the city.
As Enyo passed by them, James glanced up and caught her eye. There was a brief moment of recognition, a slight nod of acknowledgment. But it was nothing more than that. In the blink of an eye, he was gone, swallowed up by the crowd, his footsteps already fading into the noise.
Enyo continued on her way, her mind turning over the brief encounter. She had always noticed how people moved in the city, how they never seemed to slow down. James, with his perpetual rush, was just one of many who seemed to have their entire lives in motion, always pushing forward, always looking for the next step. She wondered if anyone had ever stopped to think about why they were rushing.
When Enyo reached the café, she slipped inside and made her way to her usual seat by the window. The barista behind the counter greeted her with a warm smile, and she nodded back, as usual. She didn't need to speak much—she had been coming here for weeks, and the routine was as familiar as the back of her hand.
She ordered her tea, then sat back in her seat, her gaze drifting to the street outside. The sun had climbed higher in the sky, casting a warm glow over the city. People were still moving quickly, still hurrying from one place to another, their lives playing out in fast-forward while Enyo sat quietly, her eyes watching the world. It was always the same—a blur of motion, a never-ending wave of people pushing forward.
Enyo's mind wandered as she sipped her tea, the quiet moments filling her thoughts. She wondered if anyone in this city ever took the time to slow down. To stop for just a moment and think. The pace of life here was so fast, so relentless, that it often felt like people had forgotten what it was like to simply be still.
She smiled softly to herself. Perhaps that was where she was different. She had always been different. People rushed forward, but she didn't need to. She could stay in the moment, watch as the world unfolded around her, and still feel as if she were a part of it. She didn't need to be like everyone else.
As she finished her tea, Enyo stood up and headed toward the door, her eyes scanning the street one last time. The city hadn't changed. The people were still rushing, still pushing, still trying to get somewhere. But for Enyo, the world was already moving in its own way, and she didn't need to follow its pace.
She turned away from the café, her steps slow and measured, as if she were walking to a rhythm only she could hear.