The silence after the last rehearsal

It’s 7:03 a.m. and the apartment is still half-dark, the kind of quiet that only exists when you’ve just woken up and the world hasn’t started pretending to be busy yet. I stood in the studio today—empty, cold, the floor still holding the ghost of a plié from yesterday—and realized I haven’t felt that particular hush since I stopped dancing. Not even the sound of my own breath was loud enough to break it. I think I miss it more than I thought.