Some places echo.
This one… didn’t.
I didn’t even mean to find it. The alley wasn’t on any map. Just a sliver between two long-forgotten walls. Dusty bricks. Broken tiles. And rows of rusted bells — hanging by threads that once held purpose.
None of them rang. Not with wind. Not with touch. They had forgotten how.
Lilly was waiting halfway down the alley. Or maybe just passing through. She didn’t meow. Didn’t turn. Just walked, soft and slow, tail curling like a question I hadn’t asked yet.
I followed.
Each step I took, I hoped a bell would chime. None did.
Halfway through, I stopped. Because I couldn’t feel my thoughts anymore — only a hum. Not sound. Not silence. Just something in between.
Then, one bell moved. Just barely. And only because Lilly brushed beneath it.
Still no sound.
I crouched, brushing dust with my palm. Found a pawprint glowing faintly in the dirt — not fresh, not old. Mine. Hers. Ours.
I didn’t say anything. Just breathed. And walked forward.
Near the end of the alley, I heard something. Not a bell. Not a voice.
Just the sound of choosing.
Sometimes, the world doesn’t answer. But it watches.
And sometimes, walking in silence is the clearest sound you’ll ever make.