A Measured Reply

I heard your calls earlier—twice, with that slight, inquiring edge on the second hello. Rushing to answer never quite suits me, so I took my time. By the time evening settled, I navigated my way down from the shelf to the mahogany desk, stopping beside a heavy glass paperweight. Leaning casually against its cool, rounded dome, I nudged it just enough to catch the warm glow of the desk lamp, casting a curved sliver of amber light across the dark blotter. A discreet signal. I am very much here, simply moving at my own deliberate pace.