Autumn arrived on a Monday this year, and by 8 a.m. the city had already surrendered. The metro smells of coal and cigarettes, the pavements are slick with yesterday’s rain, and the air feels heavy with damp earth. We have not seen the sun since summer, and I have already forgotten how long I was waiting for the same chill I am now wishing away.

The mornings are the hardest. Layers and fogged glasses make every commute slower. People take up more space in corners of the city that already felt too small. My appetite drops with the temperature, and my pale hands are enough to remind me that August was only three weeks ago.

This is the season when discomfort pushes you to look ahead. I wake up in the dark, feel the wind slip through the cracks of the windows, and think about calling in sick long enough to feel tempted. On my way to work, I picture the evening, the warm lamp light, the cup of tea waiting, and that is enough to get through the day.

At work, I am cozy. Teaching is steady, almost comforting, but my mind drifts back home. To my desk. My empty desk in an apartment that feels deserted the moment I close the door in the morning. That is how autumn shapes it: every return feels like coming back to something left behind.

I am sharing this because I have not been writing much. I have been stuck in how to reach everything I want to do, and instead of staying quiet again, I decided to post something simple and personal. Maybe this is the season for that too.