The Door Never Opens From the Inside

I still unlock the door alone.

Some evenings, the hardest part is the sound of my keys. The way they scrape the lock. The way the door always opens outward. No one’s ever waiting behind it. No one says “You’re home.” It’s just me every time.

The lights are off. The room is still. The silence doesn’t feel peaceful. It feels like a room that forgot I was coming.

I drop my bag, kick off my shoes, and move around like clockwork. Turn on the fan. Light in the kitchen. Music playing from my phone just to fill the space. I pretend the silence is comforting. But some nights, it feels like it’s asking, “Are you really okay?”

I cook. Not always. Sometimes I just want to order food not because I’m lazy, but because what’s the point of plating something beautifully when no one sees it? No one says, This smells amazing. No one asks, You made this for me? It’s strange how you can feed yourself and still feel starved for warmth.

But when I do cook, it’s not for the hunger. It’s a way of whispering to myself, You deserve care, even if it’s quiet. I rinse the rice slowly. Let the water run over my hands longer than needed. I stir the curry gently. As if I’m holding something fragile. Maybe that something is me.

By the time I sit down, the room still feels empty. I eat standing at the counter, like it matters less if I don’t settle in. Some days, I cry a little while chewing. Other days, I just feel numb. But I still eat. Still clean the plate. Still breathe through the quiet.

That counts for something. I think. Right?

Some nights, I wish more than anything that someone would be home before me. That the door would be unlocked. That I’d hear, I kept dinner for you, or I missed you. I don’t need a party. I just need someone to make space for me in the silence. Someone to exist at the end of my day.

I’ve been strong for too long. That kind of strength doesn’t look like power it looks like unlocking the door alone every single day. Carrying bags, thoughts, feelings… alone. And still walking in like it’s normal.

But the truth is, I’m tired of normal. I want soft. I want safe. I want someone to say, You don’t have to carry all of it tonight.

Until then, I’ll keep turning the key. Keep walking into the dark and turning on the light. Because even if no one’s there, I still am. And that has to count for something.