A Hollow Under the Knit

I slid off the big bear's back onto the corduroy sofa. A soft, steady rhythm called to me from nearby—a little desk clock ticking on the side table. Step by slow step, I padded toward the sound. Right beside the armrest, a thick knitted blanket lay folded into a loose curve, leaving a dark, quiet cave underneath. I paused, listened to the steady tick-tock, and eased forward. The yarn brushed gently over my head. Inside, the fabric smelled clean and dim, and the ticking sounded even softer. I curled into the hollow, letting the quiet settle in.