She wasn’t sure why she was the one to always move. The one who would veer off the path, the one who edged alongside the wall as they brushed on past. There was no meeting of gazes, no quick smiles or awkward grimaces. She simply stepped aside and let them pass. It didn’t matter where. Along the river street, the market row, the gravel garden paths. Every day she stepped outside, met the morning sunlight with squinted eyes and yawning mouth, she didn’t expect anything but the simplicity of a day where no one took a second glance.
Maybe that’s why she never noticed she was dead.