**Seeing Possibilities**
The morning began with the familiar blare of my alarm at half past seven. Emily stretched under the covers, her bare feet brushing the cool wooden floor as she fumbled for her slippers beneath the bed. Daylight seeped through the curtains, but it didnt stir anything in herjust another morning marking time. She shuffled past the armchair with its neatly folded throw and flicked the kettle on, her movements automatic, as if someone else were guiding her.
While the water boiled, she scrolled through her phone. Social media flashed with familiar faces, other peoples triumphs, event invites that never felt meant for her. The kitchen table was cold beneath her palmthe heating had been turned off, as it always was in late spring, before the sun had properly warmed the walls. Her usual porridge, eaten with the same chipped ceramic spoon, cooled faster than usual. Tasteless. Joyless.
The past month had blurred into one endless cycle. Slow, methodical showers. Remote workemails, calls with colleagues, brief coffee breaks by the balcony. The shouts of children playing in the courtyard below carried through the glass, bright and carefree, as if from another world. Evenings were either short walks around the block or quick trips to the Tesco Express. Everything felt colourless, like rewatching the same scene on loop.
Lately, the stagnation had become almost physical. It wasnt irritation weighing her down, nor even exhaustionjust the numb certainty that nothing ever changed. Shed tried before: online courses abandoned after two weeks, gym memberships forgotten after three sessions. Everything felt either too hard or just not *hers*. Sometimes, the thought crept in: *What if this is all there is?*
At breakfast, she caught herself staring too long out the window. A man in his forties was helping his son balance on a scooter in the courtyard. The boy laughed, loud and infectious, and the fathers face lit up with such unguarded pride that something twisted inside Emily. She looked away. Moments like that always felt like postcards from someone elses life.
Work passed as usualreports, pointless calls, the drone of her managers voice through laptop speakers. In the afternoon, she walked to the post office to mail some tax documents. The pavement radiated heat, the air shivering above it in a haze. Elderly women gossiped on benches, tossing crumbs to pigeons. Teenagers hunched over their phones while young mums pushed prams.
On her way back, a woman carrying a bouquet of red tulips smiled at herwarm, unprompted, as if they were old friends. Emily found herself smiling back before she could stop herself. A few steps later, the echo of that smile lingered, surprising her with its lightness.
That evening, among the usual notifications, a message stood out: *»Hey Em! Theres a collage workshop at the community centre on Saturdayfancy it? We could grab coffee after!»* It was from Lily, an old uni mate theyd drifted apart from years ago, only bumping into each other occasionally. Normally, Emily wouldve dismissed itwhy bother? But this time, her thumb hovered over the screen.
Excuses tumbled through her mind: *What if its awkward? What if everyone knows each other? Im rubbish at art.* Yet beneath the old habit of avoidance, a tiny spark flickered. The workshop was freeshe could always slip out early if she hated it
Late that night, she stepped onto the balcony. The air smelled of freshly cut grass from the park down the road; music drifted from an open window somewhere. Across the street, neighbours moved behind lit-up squares of glasssomeone eating dinner, another taking out the bins. The city was waking up after winter, voices spilling into the evening.
Emily gripped the railing, remembering how easily she used to say *yes* to things. Had life changed, or had she? That strangers smile, Lilys messagethey felt like quiet nudges, threading together.
The next day dragged, her managers voice tinny and irritable through the laptop. After logging off, she wandered aimlessly, just to escape the flat. At the crossroads, she nearly collided with Jake, a bloke from her uni days.
«Emily? You live round here?» he grinned. They chatted right there on the pavement. Jake was buzzing about a new volunteer projectfree talks in local parks, run by residents. «Youve got a way with words, yeah? We need someone to write up the event blurbs. Come to the meeting tomorrowbehind the library at seven?»
She laughed nervously. «Havent written anything proper in ages.»
Jake waved her off. «Perfect time to start, then!»
Back home, she paced. The coincidences piled upthe tulip woman, Lilys invite, now Jake. Like life was whispering: *Try*. Before she could overthink it, she texted Lily: *»Im in!»* Her pulse thumped; her hands shook just a little.
That night, instead of dread, anticipation hummed in her chest. She imagined the workshopmagazines spread on long tables, strangers swapping scissors. The park meeting under open skies.
Morning came brighter than usual. Sunlight glared off the pavement; the air smelled of damp earth after last nights rain. A woman at the bus stop cradled a tray of seedlings, a kid tugging at helium balloons.
At her desk, Emilys gaze snagged on a blank notebook page. Almost without thinking, she wrote: *What happens if I try? Where could this lead?*
Lily messaged details*Meet by the library café*. Jakes reminder pinged too: *Tonight, 7pm*. Her heartbeat skittered, the old urge to hide behind excuses rising. But this time, she read the messages differently.
That evening, she hesitated in front of the mirror. What did one wear to rejoin the world? She settled on light jeans and a cream blouse, hair in its usual messy ponytailno need to pretend to be someone new.
Dusk was settling as she stepped outside. The air clung, warm and thick with the scent of cut grass. She walked towards the meeting spot, willing away thoughts of awkwardness.
Jake spotted her first, waving like her presence was the most natural thing. A dozen volunteers huddled on benches, scribbling on clipboards. A red-bearded guy asked her opinion on poster slogans. When she answered, someone nodded: «Sharp. Exactly what we need.»
Later, Jake nudged her: «Could you draft a blurb for our first event?» She said yes before fear could stop her. The groups energy was contagiousLara, the coordinator, smiled encouragement; others chimed in with ideas. By the time they drifted into chats about books and terrible telly, Emily realised she was laughing, her voice unguarded for the first time in months.
Walking home, the streets felt different. Neighbours sat on steps with mugs of tea, their laughter threading through the warm dark. That morning, shed almost talked herself out of coming.
The next day, she woke early, phrases for the event blurb already forming. She sent Jake the draft without overthinking. His reply came fast: *»Spot on! This is the voice weve been missing.»*
At the library, Lily hugged her, introducing her to the group as «my brilliantly creative friend.» Hands trembling, Emily fumbled with glue sticks until the chatter swallowed her nerves. Her collagea patchwork of park scenes, a quote (*»Leap before you look»*), grinning faceswas clumsy at the edges.
«Feels like summer,» someone remarked. Lily snapped photos for their group chat, and suddenly, Emily was part of itsharing something shed made.
They planned to meet again next week, making postcards for neighbours. «Youll come?» Lily asked.
«Wouldnt miss it,» Emily said, meaning it.
That night, tea in hand, she scribbled in her notebook: *Draft event blurb. Finish collage. Invite Lily for a walk.* Rain pattered outside, the citys hum softening into something like peace.
It struck her thenhow quickly the walls of routine could crack when you let them. Gratitude swelled for Lilys nudge, Jakes trust, her own stubborn hope.
Under *Tomorrow*, she added: *Dont wait for inspiration. Make it.*
June stretched ahead, full of volunteer meetings and workshops. Shed signed up for a graphic design course, promised Jake an article for the local blog. Her days buzzed with new voices, half-formed ideas, the simple thrill of being *useful*.
As night deepened, she pushed the window wide. A breeze ruffled the curtains; distant music tangled with the scent of wet pavement. For once, she faced tomorrow without dreadjust curiosity.
Now, every small signa smile from a stranger, an unexpected invitefelt less like chance and more like a door nudged ajar. And that, she realised, was the quiet revelation of these past days: possibility was everywhere, if you learned to look.
