That evening,
The clock stopped.
Not at midnight,
Not a time neat enough to mark an end,
But 11:37 p.m.

The second hand frozen mid-fall,
As if time was holding its breath,
As if the universe had leaned in
To watch me.

The bottle lay empty,
Pills untouched beside the bed,
Lined like soldiers,
Waiting for my silent command
To dissolve the noise inside.

Then, my phone buzzed.
No call, no voice I expected,
Just a single notification
From a weather app:

Severe thunderstorm warning: take shelter immediately.

I sat frozen.
The absurdity settled deep in my bones.
No angels, no omens,
Only a loud, deliberate interruption.
Just a cold, precise warning to the world,
While my own storm continued to brew inside.

Outside, the sky held its breath too.
No thunder, no wind,
Only the ringing of those words.
Hanging in the stillness,
Too measured to be random,
Too sharp to be ignored.

I did not take shelter that night,
But I did stay.
Because sometimes,
The storm’s end is not a thunderclap,
But the slow unwinding of tension.

And maybe, just maybe,
This storm inside me
Could finally begin to pass too.