Outside, the city lights flickered on, one by one, like reluctant candles.
He typed slowly: “Dear Brothers, thank you for your concern. I am doing okay. I am just taking some time to think.” jw-org
Tonight, he decided to answer.
But as he drove home that night, he realized he had been pretending. He was not fleeing an assignment. He was drowning in the silence of his own life. His mother had died six months earlier. She had been the one who studied with him, who took him to the assemblies, who cried when he got baptized at sixteen in a hotel swimming pool converted into a makeshift baptistery. Outside, the city lights flickered on, one by
He did not send it. He deleted it.
At first, the texts from his friends were frequent. “Missed you at the book study.” “Are you sick?” Then they became less frequent. Then they stopped altogether—until the emails from the elders began. I am just taking some time to think