Alina Lopez had all the time in the world.
She smiled. Not the quick, polite smile she gave to strangers in elevators. A real one. Slow and unguarded. alina lopez all the time in the world
Later, she would drive back. She would turn on the phone. The world would be waiting with its demands and its ticking clocks. But she would carry this with her: the memory of a day when she stopped sprinting and finally arrived. Alina Lopez had all the time in the world
And for the first time, she knew exactly what to do with it. A real one
Here, the irony melted.
A strange, unfamiliar feeling began to pool in her chest. It wasn't happiness, exactly—happiness was too sharp, too event-driven. This was softer. Deeper. It was the quiet, radical peace of sufficiency. Of being exactly where she was supposed to be, not because of a deadline or a duty, but because she had chosen to be nowhere else.