After the call ends

The call ends.

And for a second, you stay sitting exactly the same way.

Your face still holding the shape it had while they were there.

Then something releases.

Not emotionally.

Physically.

Your shoulders drop a little.

Your jaw softens.

You exhale differently.

It happens before you think about it.

Almost like your body knew the interaction was over before your mind caught up.

You lean back into the chair.

The room feels quieter now.

Not because the sound changed.

Because you don’t have to keep reaching outward anymore.

And suddenly you can feel how much of your attention had been organized around staying connected.

Following.

Responding.

Remaining understandable.

Even if the conversation was good.

Even if you like the person.

There’s still this subtle effort in being with someone.

A constant adjusting.

And now it’s gone.

Not dramatically.

Just enough that your body starts returning to itself.

You look around the room for a second.

No urgency.

No need to continue the moment.

No need to say the right thing next.

You can feel your breathing lower in your body now.

Slower.

And there’s something almost strange about how relieving it is.

Not because you wanted to leave.

Not because the interaction was wrong.

Just because nothing is being asked of you anymore.

You don’t have to hold your face in the same way.

You don’t have to stay slightly ahead of the conversation.

You don’t have to keep yourself moving toward someone else.

And sitting there in the quiet after…

you realize how long your body had been waiting to stop.