Echoes of Queen

  The room had grown too quiet, but not the peaceful kind. My pen rested on a blank page, motionless, as though it had grown weary of waiting… endlessly. Across the room, crumpled pieces of paper were scattered everywhere. I’d been staring at the blank page longer than I care to admit. Words I once held with ease now seemed hidden, veiled in some unreachable past—like echoes trapped behind a curtain I could not draw back. At first, I panicked. What if I had lost it? What if the well had gone dry? I think every writer knows this fear, that moment you feel stuck, unable to express, unable to create. We call it writer’s block, and so I mistook it to be just that. But deep down, I knew it was something more… something different. Like something had shifted within me. I remembered how I struggled with words, how I begged them to come. I started missing how easy and overwhelming my words once were. Then I saw him. Silence. He had taken a seat right across from me. At first, I felt betraye...