It stopped. Just once, at first. A single hollow pause where the sound should have been.

I held my breath, waiting for it to return. And it did, clumsy, like it had tripped over something invisible inside me.

But then it stopped again. Longer this time. The seconds stretched out, thin and fragile, like glass about to crack. I wasn’t faint, I wasn’t dizzy. I was just waiting. Waiting for the thud.

When it came back, I almost wished it hadn’t. Too loud. Too heavy. Like it was trying to make up for its absence.

I counted. One. Two. Three. Then nothing. My chest ached with silence.

The strangest part is how calm I felt. No panic. Just awareness. Like the beat wasn’t mine anymore, like it belonged to something outside of me, something choosing when and if I’d feel it.

But as the minutes passed my the silence in my chest remained. Not a thud. Time went by slowly, yet I felt fine.

What if it doesn’t return this time? What if it never belonged to me at all?