Panic hit like a collision. The box was too quiet, too still, too unknown. Every heartbeat felt like a countdown I couldn’t see, every second a threat I couldn’t name. My mind turned cardboard into a coffin, tape into teeth. I was sure opening it would change everything, or end some hidden, fragile pa…
When the box finally split open, the silence was almost mocking. No bomb, no letter that would unravel my life, no dark revelation waiting to detonate my past. Just objects—plain, practical, almost insultingly harmless. Relief washed through me, hot and shaky, chased by the sharp embarrassment of realizing I’d been at war with my own imagination.
