Where no one knows me

When I arrived, the air smelled different—not better or worse, just unfamiliar. The first thing I noticed was the silence within the crowd—not absolute silence, but the absence of familiar voices, the feeling of being a ghost among the living.

Everything here worked differently. The faces were unknown, the streets followed routes I didn’t understand, and the days passed without anyone saying my name. There was no story tying me to this place, no echo of my past within its walls.

Work wasn’t any better. It was like a well-oiled machine where I was the piece that didn’t fit. They spoke to me without looking and gave instructions without explaining. Just the basics, just enough. A mechanical greeting, a curt direction, a glance that barely landed on me before shifting back to a screen, a phone, something more important. I wondered if my presence would ever be more than a shadow in the corner of their routines.

The nights were the worst enemy. Loneliness became louder when the sun went down and nothing could distract the mind. I stared at the ceiling, wondering if I had made a mistake and if this place would ever be more than just space and become a home.

But the truth is, I had no choice. Sometimes life doesn’t ask if we’re ready—it just pushes us forward. And here I was, learning to exist again, to build a name in a place where no one knew me.

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