The Carol That Knows Your Name
The first time it happened, I thought I was mishearing it.
Christmas Eve had settled into the apartment like dust—quiet, soft, unavoidable. Outside, the city glowed in muted colors, strings of lights blinking in tired rhythms, as if even joy needed rest. I sat alone at the small kitchen table with a cup of reheated coffee, the radio murmuring to fill the silence. I always kept it on during holidays. Silence had a way of remembering things I tried not to.
