The Waiting Room
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Claire was supposed to quit her job today. She'd written the email. Set a reminder for 9 AM. But when 9 AM came... she didn't send it.
Instead, she left her apartment and started walking. No destination. Just away. Away from the decision.
Between a dry cleaner and a Thai restaurant, she finds a door. No sign. No windows. Just a door. And inside: a waiting room. Beige walls. Outdated magazines. Chairs lined up against the walls. And people—maybe six or seven of them—all sitting. All waiting. Nobody speaks. Nobody checks their phones.
Claire sits down too. Because it feels nice. To just sit. To not have to do anything. To wait.
But the door won't open again until she's called. And to be called, she has to be ready. Ready for the thing she came here to avoid.
Some waiting rooms aren't for appointments. They're for people who aren't ready to face what comes next. And time doesn't move the same when you're hiding.