the Braid

 

The library was quiet, filled only with the soft rustle of turning pages and the occasional creak of an old wooden chair. She sat at the long study table, a book open in front of her, but her hands were busy with something else—her hair.

It was long, thick, and impossibly smooth, spilling down her back like a dark river. With practiced ease, she gathered it all over one shoulder, letting it pool in her lap for a moment before separating it into three sections.

Slowly, she began braiding.

Her fingers moved with a kind of quiet rhythm, weaving the strands together with effortless precision. The braid grew longer, tighter, each motion as natural as breathing. A few loose strands escaped near her face, brushing against her cheek, but she didn’t seem to mind.

Someone walked past, their footsteps briefly breaking the silence, but she remained focused, securing the braid with a simple tie before letting it rest against her shoulder.

A moment later, as if on second thought, she reached up and undid it.

The woven pattern unraveled in slow motion, strand by strand, until her hair was loose once more, falling freely down her back. She ran her fingers through it once, smoothing it out, then returned to her book as if nothing had happened.

It was such a simple thing. But in the stillness of the library, it felt like watching a quiet kind of magic.