The Roar of Silence

The stories we tell in the quiet

July 2026

The most useful souvenirs are rarely the ones that fit in a suitcase. They are the small rearrangements of attention that travel leaves behind.

Omg…

sooo glad to hear from you.”

“Everything okay?”

“It is now.”

“Now?

What happened?”

“I sent you a text this morning.”

“I know… I saw it.”

“That was seven hours ago.”

“I was at work. I had meetings. I just got home.”

“Oh.

I thought you were mad at me.

Or that I’d said something wrong.

Or that maybe you were in that accident they showed on the news -

the one with the car that looked like yours.”

“Wait… what?”

“You didn’t respond.”

“I was at work.”

And boom -

there you have it.

Seven silent hours

just became ten different stories.

We are all storytellers.

Quiet hours

rarely stay quiet.

We fill them

with our fears,

our worries,

our insecurities,

the chatter in our heads.

We birth narratives.

And then we

breathe life

into them.

Then we flesh them out.

Round them gently.

Let them grow.

Hours later,

we are no longer responding

to a text,

but to stories

that have already lived

a lifetime

inside our heads.

That is how a pause

becomes an intricate pattern.

Different rhythms.

Different wiring.

Different seasons.

Sometimes one of us

feels lonely -

and every delay feels amplified.

Sometimes the other

is building,

healing,

writing -

and the world narrows

to what is right in front of them.

The same friendship

can feel warm and fuzzy

or cold and distant

depending on where

each of us is standing.

Friendship is less like standing still

and more like climbing.

Mountain climbers rarely move in perfect unison.

One steps ahead.

One pauses for breath.

One studies the path.

One looks back.

But they are roped together.

Not to match every step -

but to make sure

if one slips,

the other holds.

So when it feels like you’re not walking in sync,

turn back.

Look at how far

you’ve already climbed together -

the valleys crossed,

the air you adjusted to,

the ground you learned to trust.

You didn’t get here by accident.

You’ve had each other’s back.

And just because you are not matching

every single step right now

doesn’t mean

you are no longer on the same mountain.

Sometimes you’re standing

on different ridges,

taking in different views.

The landscape may look different

from where each of you stands.

The rope

is still there.

Whisper:

Storytellers weave stories. Not the truth.

Seeds of Change

A collection of memoirs, reframes, and family archives - kept in the spirit of a well-loved journal.

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© 2026 Nikhat Powell · Seeds of Change. All rights reserved.