Noise Between Notifications

"A quiet search for meaning in a hyperconnected world."

As usual, it began with the noise between notifications.

Emma blinked into consciousness, her face bathed in the cool blue glow of her phone screen. It was 6:48 a.m. Her hand, almost instinctively, slid across the screen. Dozens of notifications were already waiting—news alerts, app updates, weather warnings, and a message marked *“URGENT.”*

She sighed and pushed herself upright.

In her small apartment kitchen, the kettle wheezed softly as she opened her laptop at the dining table—a table that doubled as her work desk, dinner space, and life organizer. Outside, the city was waking up. Honking cars. Rattling delivery bikes. But all Emma heard was the endless *ping* of emails and calendar alerts.

She had once dreamed of working in publishing—editing manuscripts in a sunlit office, discovering the next literary masterpiece. But her job at a digital content agency mostly involved spinning influencer quotes and recycling trending hashtags.

Today’s assignment? Write five lifestyle blurbs on *“How to Stay Positive During Doomscrolling.”*

She let out a small, sarcastic laugh.

At 11:04 a.m., she escaped for a break.

The café on the first floor had a new barista—a tall guy with a heartbeat-soft presence and a shy smile.

“Morning,” he said as she approached the counter. “Still figuring out the machine, but I make a decent latte.”

“That’s all I need,” she replied, her voice catching from lack of use.

They exchanged names. His was Liam. She noticed he wasn’t wearing earbuds, nor did he glance at his phone even once. It felt strange. Peaceful.

Back upstairs, her inbox had turned into a battlefield.

One client wanted changes. Another wanted “more sparkle” in the captions. Her boss had left a voice note asking if she could hop on a spontaneous Zoom call in “five-ish.”

Emma minimized her tabs and stared out the window. The view wasn’t much—just the back of another building—but on its fire escape stood a potted plant, somehow still clinging to life.

She envied it.

Her phone buzzed again.

A group chat with college friends lit up. They were arranging a reunion Emma wasn’t sure she could afford. Another friend had just gotten engaged. Yet another had bought a house.

Emma hadn’t bought new shoes in six months.

She turned off her notifications and lay flat on the floor, arms spread wide, eyes closed. Just for a minute.

A memory surfaced—walking hand-in-hand with her grandmother, warm bread in their arms from the local market. No phones. Just the sun on their faces. Time moved slowly, like syrup.

What had changed?

At 4:00 p.m., the Zoom call began. Faces in little boxes. Everyone smiled a little too brightly.

Emma forced cheer into her voice.

“Yes, we can push that deadline.”

“Yes, I’ll redo the copy.”

“No problem at all.”

She muted herself and glanced at her video feed. She didn’t look bad—just… faded.

Evening rolled in like a quiet wave.

She closed her laptop, stood up, and stretched. The silence in her apartment felt heavy, so she put on some music—an old college playlist full of memories and late-night dancing.

She let one song play all the way through without skipping.

At 7:30 p.m., she went back downstairs for a second coffee she didn’t need—mostly to see Liam again.

“You’re back,” he said, smiling.

“Turns out I like your coffee,” she replied. “And your lack of earphones.”

He laughed. “I like listening to people. The sound of real life is underrated.”

They talked for a while—about books, the weather, and a tiny art gallery nearby that Emma had somehow never visited. She promised she would.

Liam handed her a paper cup with her name scrawled neatly across the lid. She held it just a little longer than she needed to.

That night, Emma didn’t scroll herself to sleep.

She turned her phone face-down, opened a real book, and let its words carry her away.

And in the silence between the pages, she noticed something she hadn’t felt in a long time—not the absence of noise, but the **presence of peace**.

The next morning, she didn’t wake up to her phone.

She woke up to birdsong outside the window. No alerts. No screens. Just morning light.

She made tea.

She watched the sunlight touch the potted plant on the fire escape.

She smiled.

And, for the first time in a long while, Emma sat down and wrote something—just for herself.