Demure

She stands
beside the curtain.

Not hiding;
but choosing soft,
deliberate shade.

The room holds its breath
– waiting for her to speak.

She does not.

And silence suits her like silk.

Flowing where words would falter.
Stitched with invisible intention.

A glance,
becomes a sentence.

A pause,
its punctuation.

She leaves
before the moment asks.

Not out of fear.
But because arrival?

Is never meant
to be owned.

Just announced.

By Sarah © 2025

Sammi Scribbles, Weekend Writing Prompt: demure (70 words)