Work had been relentless lately—long hours, endless demands, no recognition, no relief.
Friends had stopped calling, assuming she was too busy. Maybe they were right.
Even the smallest things now felt overwhelming—the relentless roar of traffic, the harsh glare of a computer screen. She needed to escape.
The forest had always been her refuge. No deadlines, no expectations. Just quiet.
She grabbed her hiking boots, water bottle, and keys. No plan, just an urgent need to be somewhere else—somewhere she could breathe.
The drive was long but peaceful. The further she left the city behind, the lighter she felt. Maybe this trip would help.
She parked at the trailhead, stretching her legs. The air was cool and crisp—the kind that sharpens the senses.
She began walking, the crunch of dry leaves beneath her boots grounding her. Above, the trees swayed gently, indifferent to her presence. It was exactly what she needed.
For the first time in weeks, her mind quieted. Or maybe she simply stopped trying to think. She just existed.
Half an hour in, she paused to drink. The distant bird calls were comforting. Everything felt normal.
Then, a flicker of movement in the trees caught the corner of her eye, just for a second.