I thought being noticed would feel reassuring.

  Instead, it made me careful.

  I choose a different spot today. Not far from the old one?—?just far enough to pretend it was accidental.

  I open my notebook slowly, as if the pages might react. As if silence now has eyes.

  Nothing happens.

  The world continues as it always does.

  Still, I catch myself glancing up more often?—?wondering who is looking, wondering what they see.

  People fade into shadows. Cars buzz along the road. The memory of the last encounter flickers back.

  A brief unease brushes past me, then disappears.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  I write anyway.

  The words feel heavier?—?not because they matter more, but because I am aware they exist.

  Once, writing was invisible. Now it feels exposed.

  I pause.

  Do writers always feel this way after being seen? Or is this just another excuse my mind invents?

  I don’t leave this time. I stay.

  Not brave. Not confident. Just present.

  Perhaps being seen is not an ending. Perhaps it is a responsibility.

  A soft thud pulls me out of my reverie?—?a bus door closing nearby. Children step down, greeted by waiting hands. Brief smiles. Easy exchanges. Safety, passing by.

  A girl in a trench coat exits a nearby store, smiling to herself. I don’t know why?—?but her smile feels complete.

  An involuntary smile reaches my lips.

  Tomorrow, the same things will happen. The world will go on. So will I.

  I write one more line. Then another.

  Carefully.

  Does being noticed change the way you show up?—?or only the way you hesitate?

  — From Writer’s Diary

  Chathurma??

  Next: Writer’s Diary?—?Note 8