Quiet Exchange

The throb faded from your hand, replaced by an echoing emptiness. The marketplace bustled not with wares, but with experiences bartered like common goods—a laugh for a forgotten sorrow, a fear exchanged for a moment of peace. Each transaction brought the chill of worn metal to skin that faintly recalled another’s touch. It wasn't about possessing what was offered; rather, it seemed an attempt to redistribute some internal weight, leaving you wondering if anything truly ever belonged to *you*.