Silent Witness

She sat alone in her wheelchair, facing the window where the rain traced soft trails down the glass. The world outside moved in slow motion, blurred and gray, but she did not notice. Her hands, frail and still, rested in her lap like petals that had long since fallen.

There had been a time when laughter filled her days, when voices she loved wrapped around her like a warm blanket. Together, they had shared memories—birthdays, quiet mornings, and sunlit afternoons spent beneath wide skies. But those memories had become distant shadows, slippery and dim, vanishing before she could hold them.

Now, the days passed without form or name. There was no yesterday she could reach for, and no tomorrow that waited for her. Even the present—this moment, this breath—slipped silently through her like water through trembling fingers. Thoughts came, disconnected and hollow, then faded before they could land.

She had once kept stories inside her, private treasures of love and life, ready to be shared. But those stories were gone, forgotten before they could ever be remembered. She sat now in a quiet stillness, not sad, not joyful—just absent. Oblivious. Without time. With nothing left to give.

And so she remained, a silent witness to a world she no longer knew, as the rain continued to fall, unnoticed.