I stand at the doorway, somewhere between who I was and who I am becoming. In one hand, I carry what the world can see a dress, a purse, a little piece of elegance. But in the other hand, I carry the things nobody sees. The expectations. The memories. The silent questions. Sometimes leaving is not about walking away. Sometimes leaving is simply choosing not to remain the person you used to be. So here I am, at the edge of one life and the beginning of another. I don’t know what waits beyond the door. But perhaps becoming has never required certainty. Perhaps all it requires is one brave step forward.