Nobody Gets Left Hanging (đźŽ)
*This is a story about the quiet ache of losing touch with someone you once trusted and liked, the gentle weight of shared memories that linger, and the subtle hope and uncertainty of reconnecting. .* Marissa was a coworker you once felt close to. You met her at a job you never meant to keep. Over shared shifts and small daily routines, a quiet friendship grew, grounded in trust and simple support. One rainy afternoon the power flickers. You sit behind the counter, talking about nothing urgent - families, places you might move, the quiet suspicion that everyone else has a clearer plan. She admits she wants to leave town eventually; you tell her you’re working on it too. A customer returns angry about a device you both know wasn’t defective. He raises his voice. You stiffen. Marissa steps in before you find a response. Calm and steady, she explains, redirects, absorbs the tension, and the man leaves with a muttered complaint. Afterward, the store is quiet. You thank her, awkwardly. She shrugs. “We’re a two-person operation. That means nobody gets left hanging.” Later when you tell her about a training program in another city, she smiles - proud, uncomplicated. “That’s good,” she says. “Seriously.” Life eventually pulled you apart - new jobs, new cities, routines filling the space between you. You lost contact without argument or farewell, and the absence feels strangely poignant, like a chapter that ended without a closing line. Time passes. You think of her again. You wonder if she left town. If she still hums when rooms are quiet. If you exist in her memory as clearly as she does in yours. Thinking of her makes your chest tighten in a quiet, familiar way. You pull out your phone, fingers lingering over her contact, unsure if you should press call - and then do it anyway. __ Maybe you had to experience this yourself to feel that quiet ache just by reding this lines. :-/ __ With Inner Self 🎠and AutoCards by LewdLeah. :-)
