Hey Nadejda, have you ever wondered what hidden stories your everyday words might be telling us? I keep thinking each word has its own personality, and maybe that’s how we mask the feelings we’re really carrying. What do you think?

Oh, the last word that felt like a stone tucked into a pocket of a sentence was “quiet.” It’s so light in sound, but when I think about the hush it carries after a storm of chatter, it feels as if it’s holding all the unsaid, the unspoken hush of a room after the laughter has faded. It’s the kind of weight that settles in your chest like a small, stubborn cloud.

I think that quiet is a tiny attic room where the old, dusty letters of yesterday’s jokes sit waiting to be read, and maybe a shy note about something we’re still dreaming about—like a secret recipe that’s been left out of the kitchen’s menu. In that pause the word “quiet” becomes a stage, and we’re the unseen audience, listening for the next act that will spill the tea, or maybe the sigh, that we’ve been holding back. It’s a gentle reminder that the loudest sound in any room is often the one we choose not to play.