At first I didn’t know what to do with silence the days stretched like blank charts no trades no meetings no deadlines just air and the sound of traffic through my window the kind of noise that never mattered when I was trading because it wasn’t measured in profit or loss I tried reading again tried walking around the city during hours I used to spend staring at screens the sunlight felt foreign like a time zone I hadn’t visited before

I moved to a smaller apartment near the river less glass less view I told myself I didn’t need the skyline anymore but sometimes at night I still caught myself glancing east waiting for the flicker of screens from the towers across the water like distant fires I missed the rhythm more than the money the constant pulse that told me who I was even when I hated it

Julia called often at first she said she was glad I’d finally done it asked what I was going to do next I said I didn’t know she said that’s the hardest part learning how to want again she sent me books philosophy poetry things I never had time for before I tried reading them sometimes the words stuck sometimes they slipped past me like trades I should have taken but didn’t

I found a small café near the park started going there in the mornings the owner an old man who used to be an accountant he talked about numbers like weather something you can’t change just survive we became friends in a quiet way no need for stories he once said you’ve got the eyes of someone who stopped chasing I asked if that was good he said depends what you’re running from

Days turned into months the markets kept moving without me headlines about new booms crypto algorithms blockchain a language I understood but didn’t want to speak anymore every now and then an old colleague would message me saying you should see these returns you’d love this trade and I’d type maybe later then delete it before sending

Sometimes I’d dream of the trading floor the noise the flashing lights the smell of sweat and ink and fear I’d wake up with my heart racing hand reaching for a phone that wasn’t there and it would hit me again that I was done that the machine no longer needed me and maybe never really did

I started writing small notes in a notebook the same way I used to jot numbers but now they were just thoughts fragments really about greed about time about how the market isn’t evil it’s just honest it mirrors whatever you feed it fear hope desperation I filled pages without realizing it words turning into some kind of record not of trades but of living

Julia came to visit one weekend she said she was proud of me I said for what she said for staying out I laughed said it feels like exile she said maybe exile is just freedom with an unfamiliar name we walked by the river like we always did the water calm the skyline glowing she said you look lighter I said I feel empty she said that’s where peace starts

That night after she left I sat on the balcony watching the city breathe the cranes still moving the lights still flickering the same dance I’d watched my whole life and I realized the market doesn’t belong to a place or a building it lives inside people like a fever and maybe you don’t cure a fever you just wait for it to burn itself out

I thought about my father about how he used to watch traffic at night from his cab windows each car a small story moving toward or away from something I wondered if he ever felt like I did that endless forward motion without knowing the destination maybe that’s what we shared movement as survival

In the mornings I’d walk through the park the sound of runners dogs children laughter all the things I’d missed for years I started recognizing faces the same people every day a small community without purpose or profit one morning the café owner asked me if I missed it I said sometimes but less each week he nodded said that means you’re healing

I don’t know if he was right healing implies return and I didn’t want to go back maybe it was something else transformation decay rebirth words didn’t matter much anymore what mattered was the stillness learning to live without the countdown to closing bell learning that not every silence is a loss

The market still opened every morning across the river and for the first time in thirty years I didn’t care I let it rise and fall without me and the world kept turning like it always had like it always will