She didn’t look up from the cracks in the sidewalk, nor did she turn down her street to go home. Instead, she just kept walking. The cracks fascinated her, sprawling like veins beneath her feet, telling stories of pressure and time. It was easier to focus on those than the weight pressing against her chest. The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the world in hues of amber and fire, but she barely noticed. Her shadow stretched ahead, leading her forward.

Home didn’t feel like home, not anymore. The walls had grown too tight, suffocating her with their silence. The people inside, though well-meaning, filled the air with questions she didn’t have answers for, their words echoing like distant thunder. So, she walked, letting the steady rhythm of her sneakers against the pavement drown it all out.

She passed houses with glowing windows, the soft hum of domesticity spilling onto the street. Voices, laughter, and clinking dishes murmured behind curtains drawn tight against the world. She envied those rooms, warm and golden. But they were someone else’s life, someone else’s story.

Her fingers brushed the rough bark of an old jacaranda tree as she walked by, its roots pushing up through the ground in defiance. She stopped momentarily, staring at how the roots cracked and broke the cement, refusing to be buried. It was beautiful, in its stubborn way, and she envied it too. She wished she had that resilience and determination to break through and reach the surface.

“Are you lost?” The voice startled her.

She turned sharply, eyes meeting those of an older man sitting on a bench beneath the tree. His face was creased like the sidewalk, lines etched by years and wisdom. He wore a threadbare jacket, the kind that had seen too many winters, but his eyes were sharp, and they watched her as if he’d been expecting her.

“No,” she replied, though it felt like a lie. “Just... walking.”

He nodded as though that explained everything. “Sometimes the walk leads you where you need to be.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. The man didn’t press her. Instead, he leaned back, gazing up at the branches of the tree, the purple blossoms trembling in the breeze. His silence was oddly comforting like he understood the storm that words couldn’t tame.

After a while, she moved on, leaving him behind with the jacaranda. The streets grew quieter and darker, and the air colder as night crept in. Her steps slowed, and her gaze lifted for the first time, scanning the unfamiliar street she’d wandered onto. She wasn’t sure how far she’d walked or where she was now.

But in the distance, she spotted a light, not the artificial glow of a streetlamp or a house, but something softer. It flickered, beckoning. She didn’t know what she would find there, but for the first time in days, she felt a stir of something other than dread.

Maybe the walk had led her somewhere after all.