Something is off.
You cannot always name it. But you can feel it. In the tiredness that sleep does not touch. In the sentences you soften before they leave your mouth. In the version of you that walks into rooms and quietly disappears inside her own performance.
You know there is more.
You catch glimpses of her. The real you. The one who already knows what she wants. The one who would have asked. The one who already knows the answer.
This is the room where you meet her.
Here, the heaviness lifts. Your voice steadies. Decisions you have been avoiding become possible. You stop making yourself smaller in rooms you used to dim in. You ask for what you used to settle around. The people closest to you begin to meet the actual you.
Your body, your work, your relationships begin to fit the woman underneath.
The one who has been waiting.
Step in.