A fleeting Moment

It wasn’t a grand occasion,

no spotlight, no applause,

just a Tuesday morning

when the sun slipped quietly through half-drawn blinds.

I was rushing—

shoes untied, thoughts tangled,

my mind already three steps ahead—

when a stranger at the crosswalk

looked up, smiled, and said,

“Take your time, the world will wait.”

It landed like a stone in still water,

ripples widening,

stretching far beyond the moment.

For the first time,

I noticed the rhythm of my breath,

the way light bends around a leaf,

how silence can hold you steady.

That smile slowed me down,

taught me that not all victories

are loud or earned—

some are gifted in passing.

Since then,

I’ve caught myself pausing

in grocery lines,

in traffic jams,

in conversations that wander

choosing presence over pace,

trusting that maybe

the world really does wait

for those who notice it.