She picked up a pen instead—blue ink, cheap Bic—and turned to a fresh page in her notebook. No cursor. No delete key. No spellcheck whispering doubt.
She wrote: The moth kept trying.
You're not blocked , she told herself. You're scared. unblock
The cursor blinked on the white expanse like a heartbeat she couldn't match. Three hours, and all she'd written was her name. She picked up a pen instead—blue ink, cheap
Claire set down the glass. Walked back to the desk. Didn't sit. unblock