The water cascaded furiously, a relentless torrent that seemed to drown out the world beyond the bathroom door. Dayzia stood there, enveloped in steam and warmth, yet shivering as if she were standing in the midst of a blizzard. The shower was her safe Haven, a place where the pitter-patter of droplets could wash away the noise, the chaos, the merciless buzz of her own spiraling thoughts.

She let her eyes follow the paths of individual droplets as they journeyed down the tiled wall, their trails as erratic as the thoughts racing through her mind. Each drop seemed to hesitate before it fell, clinging to the false safety of the known, much like Dayzia clung to the familiarity of her routine, her own personal ledge in the vast canyon of her life.

The mirror was fogged over, a blurred reflection that offered no judgment, no sharp edges, just a hazy silhouette that could be anyone, anything. Dayzia preferred it this way; clarity was overrated when your own mind was a maze with no exit, a puzzle where the pieces never quite fit.

The scent of lavender soap filled the air, a fragrance that promised calm and comfort, yet it was a promise that seemed meant for someone else. For Dayzia, the floral notes were just another reminder of her constant masquerade; the mask she wore daily, the one that said, "I'm fine," when every fiber of her being screamed otherwise.

As the water continued its tantalizing descent, Dayzia closed her eyes, wishing the water would wash her away and make her new again. She let the sound envelop her. It was a symphony composed of droplets, each note a fleeting moment of peace in the chaotic cacophony of her existence. Here, in the confines of the shower, she could pretend, if only for a while, that she was standing beneath a waterfall in some distant, untouched world—a world where her heart didn't race at the thought of the day ahead, where her breath didn't catch in her throat at the thought of facing the outside world.

But showers end, as all things must. The water would stop, the steam would dissipate, and Dayzia would step out onto the cold tile, the armor of normalcy waiting to be dawned once more.