The Window Light After One

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On the third floor of an old building overlooking a quiet street, Hala sat on her wooden chair, gazing out of her open window, a warm cup of coffee in her hands.

The clock had just passed 1:00 a.m., and the city seemed to have stopped breathing. No cars, no footsteps, only a gentle breeze playing with the curtain.

At this late hour, she felt more at peace than ever. No buzzing messages, no work calls, no one asking for anything. Everything was silent—except her heart, which whispered softly to her.

She thought of her father’s face, her mother’s laughter, and her sister’s teasing voice over breakfast. It wasn’t sadness she felt, but a strange warmth… as if the night was gently rearranging her memories.

She reached for a small notebook beside her and wrote:

“1:17 a.m.

I am calm. I am grateful.

The night isn’t scary… the night is honest.”

She closed the notebook and smiled.

Outside, her window remained the only one lit on the entire street… as if it were telling the night that she was here, awake, and loving this moment—because it was honest.