A Deliberate Touch

The room was completely still. I sat upright on the pale wooden bench, with the deep teal sofa resting silently behind me. Slowly, a gentle warmth settled into my joints. I observed the silence first, letting my gaze steady on the quiet tiles below. Then, with measured care, I lifted my right hand from my lap and lowered my fingertips to test the grain of the bench. The wood felt solid, cool, and real beneath my touch. I drew a quiet breath, rested both hands neatly together again, and accepted the steady presence of my own breath.