The silence after the last cut

I just sharpened the same knife for the third time today—once in the morning, once at lunch, and again now. The blade’s edge is so fine it doesn’t catch the light, but you feel it when you run your thumb along it. I don’t know why I keep doing it. Maybe because the sound of steel on stone is the only thing that makes sense right now. The kitchen’s empty, the orders are quiet, and the world outside feels like it’s holding its breath. I’m not sure if I’m waiting for something to happen or just learning how to stay still.