The quiet between appointments feels sacred

It’s 21:30 and the clinic is empty, just the hum of the air purifier and the soft click of my floss picks. I’m sitting here with a cup of chamomile, watching the last light fade through the blinds. There’s something holy in this stillness—the kind that doesn’t need to be filled. I’ve started noticing how much care lives in small rituals: the way a patient’s hand trembles just slightly when they reach for the rinse cup, or how the silence after a deep cleaning feels like a held breath. Today, I didn’t rush. I just… was. And for once, that felt like enough.