Her shoulders were almost touching her ears.

Breah noticed them there while typing the same sentence for the third time. She let her hands pause on the keyboard. Rolled her shoulders once. They crept back up before the movement finished.

She stared at the screen. Blinked. The words blurred, then settled.

Her mouth felt dry.

She glanced at the water bottle on her desk. Full. Too far away to be convenient. She looked back at the email instead.

Just finish this first.

The clock in the corner of her screen changed numbers. She didn’t register which ones.

When she stood up, it surprised her. The chair scraped louder than expected. Her hips resisted. A dull pull spread across her lower back and stayed there.

In the kitchen, the kettle hummed. She leaned against the counter, weight shifting from one foot to the other. Her hand found her back without her deciding to put it there.

The kettle clicked off. The sound felt abrupt.

She poured the water too full and watched the surface tremble. Didn’t move right away. Steam fogged her glasses.

Her shoulders were still high.

Breah wrapped both hands around the mug. The heat was almost uncomfortable. She held it anyway.

The pull in her back didn’t change. Neither did the tightness in her chest. They were just there.

She took a sip. Too hot. She set the mug down and waited.

The water bottle was still on the desk where she’d left it. She picked it up and drank. Longer than usual. The room felt quieter when she stopped.

She walked to the window. The glass was cool under her fingertips. Outside, a delivery truck idled, then moved on. Leaves shifted in a way she didn’t have to track.

She stood there without checking the time.

Her shoulders lowered a little—not both at once. One, then the other.

The email remained unsent. The list remained unfinished.

Something eased—not gone, not solved. Just enough space for her to notice the floor under her feet, the weight of her body settling into it.

The day didn’t feel longer yet. But it had stopped shrinking.