Wires keep thinning, screens keep brightening, and somehow the room feels quieter when someone sets their phone face down. A sleeve brushes a sleeve at the counter. Steam rises. We notice the small courtesies again: an offered chair, a held door, names remembered without searching.

Outside, the calendar fills itself, but the body still asks for simple proof. Eye contact that lasts a beat longer. A laugh that doesn’t perform. A hand on a shoulder, steady. Even a plain tee can feel like a pause you can wear, saying enough without speaking.