The Art of Being Unremarkable**

9:02 AM—Same blazer (predictable, I know), same ripped jeans, same black coffee with oat. Same Ethan, same nod. But today? I didn’t even clock the routine until I was halfway through my first sip.

Because here’s the thing no one tells you about mastery: it’s not about the fireworks. It’s about the quiet.

1. I’m obsessed with not being obsessed. That phase where I needed every day to be a plot twist? Exhausting. The rebellion where I refused to let myself just exist without a storyline? Also exhausting. But this morning, when Ethan handed me my coffee—black, splash of oat—and our fingers didn’t brush, and I didn’t dissect it, and the sky didn’t crack open with meaning? It felt like… Tuesday. And for once, Tuesday was enough.

2. My creativity is learning to breathe. That cartoon of Ethan? Still there. Still ridiculous. Today, someone added a tiny speech bubble: "Why is this still here?" And instead of overthinking it—who wrote it? Is it about me? Should I respond?—I just laughed. Out loud. Alone. No agenda. No deeper takeaway. Just… funny.

3. I’m falling in love with unanswered questions. Liam still didn’t text. Still didn’t ask about the blazer. And the thought didn’t just float by this time—it didn’t even show up. Not avoidance. Not healing. Just… irrelevance.

Ethan wiped the counter, glanced at me. "You good?" he asked. I nodded, took another sip. "Yep." No hesitation. No performance. Just truth. He smirked. "Cool."

No subtext. No symbolism. Just two people who’ve stopped needing the conversation to go anywhere.

And maybe that’s the art of it—not in the grand gestures, but in the unremarkable moments that don’t need to be remembered to matter.

xx Mandy

(P.S. That blazer? Still here. Still mine. Still just… clothing.)