At first glance, the pillows all looked the same to Mira—soft, rumpled squares in slightly different poses, as if they’d been caught mid-nap themselves. She scanned the numbers quickly, her eyes drifting instead of focusing, and picked two without much thought. It felt easier that way. After all, the challenge didn’t really matter, and the couch beneath her was far more convincing than the puzzle in front of her. The pillows seemed to blur together, inviting her to stop trying so hard and simply rest.
Later, when she realized her chosen pair wasn’t identical at all, she laughed instead of feeling embarrassed. The mistake felt honest. It reminded her that laziness wasn’t always a flaw—it was sometimes a signal to slow down, to let imperfection exist without fixing it. The pillows, mismatched as they were, ended up stacked under her head anyway, proving that comfort doesn’t require precision, just permission to pause.
