The rain had returned to the city, unannounced, as it often did. Enyo didn't mind. She walked without an umbrella, her coat hood barely shielding her from the gentle drizzle. She liked how the city softened in the rain—how the sharp edges of buildings blurred, how the noise dimmed just enough for her thoughts to speak louder.
She was on her way home from the library, her satchel filled with borrowed books and her mind teeming with unfinished thoughts. The familiar rhythm of her footsteps echoed in her ears, a quiet percussion beneath the gray sky.
Her apartment sat on the fourth floor of an aging complex, the kind with peeling paint and balconies that leaned ever so slightly forward. It was humble, but it was hers. She liked the cracks in the wall, the way the light touched her desk in the morning, and the comforting creak of her wooden floorboards.
She stepped in, shook off her coat, and placed the books gently on her desk. Her eyes drifted to the window. Raindrops raced each other down the glass, and beyond them, the city moved in softened hues.
Then came the knock.
It was soft, hesitant, like someone unsure if they were allowed to interrupt.
Enyo blinked. No one ever knocked at her door. Not unless it was a package or a mistake.
She hesitated, then opened it.
A girl stood there. Young—maybe twenty, or close to it. She had headphones slung around her neck, neon sneakers, and an expression that blended curiosity with apology.
"Hi… sorry to bother you. Are you Enyo?" the girl asked.
Enyo nodded slowly. "Yes."
"I'm Mariel. I moved in two floors down last week. The lady at the front desk said you're the quiet one who reads all the time."
Enyo raised an eyebrow. "That sounds… accurate."
Mariel smiled. "I hope it's okay, but I wanted to ask you something. I heard you do a lot of writing… and observing. I'm in an urban film class, and we're doing a documentary project on unnoticed stories. Hidden people. Moments that go unspoken. And I… I think you'd be perfect for it."
Enyo's first instinct was to retreat.
Interview? Camera? Exposure?
But something in Mariel's face stopped her. There was no performance there. Just genuine interest. And maybe a little admiration.
"I'm not much for being on camera," Enyo said, her voice calm but firm.
"I understand," Mariel replied quickly. "I'm not asking you to be on it—at least not in the typical way. I just… I want to follow you for a while. With permission. Observe your way of seeing. Your silence. I think it has a lot to say."
Enyo's fingers curled around the edge of her doorframe. She felt the shell tighten inside her, the instinct to hide, to say no, to retreat to her pages and ink.
But then—another thought. Maybe the world needed to see what stillness looked like. Maybe quiet wasn't the absence of life, but another kind of presence.
She studied Mariel for a moment longer, then stepped aside.
"Come in. But no cameras today. Just tea."
Mariel grinned. "Fair enough."
As they sat together by the window, the rain whispering its secrets on the pane, Enyo watched the girl's eyes scan her apartment—the stacked books, the taped sketches on the wall, the small garden of succulents on her shelf.
"Is it always this peaceful here?" Mariel asked.
"No," Enyo replied, her tone dry. "Sometimes the kettle whistles."
Mariel laughed softly. "I like that. You're like… still water. But deep."
Enyo didn't respond immediately. She looked out the window again, her mind drifting.
Still water. Yes. But even still water held currents beneath.
And now, perhaps, someone was about to wade in.