Tifa Lockhart smoking and blowing smoke rings reclined in the couch!

Description: The day's last sigh escapes me not as a breath, but as smoke. i sink deeper into the worn leather of the couch, the springs a familiar comfort against my back. the world outside seventh heaven is finally quiet, reduced to the soft hiss of the neon sign filtering through the blinds, painting the room in slashes of amber and shadow. my lighter clicks, a sharp, solitary sound in the stillness. the flame kisses the tip of the cigarette, and for a moment, the world is just that small, focused point of fire. i draw in, the ember flaring to life, a tiny, captive star. the heat is a familiar ghost in my lungs, a warmth that spreads and then settles. leaning my head back, i let the smoke drift from my lips in a slow, grey plume. it’s not about the vice. it’s about the pause. the space between one thought and the next. i purse my lips, feeling the shape of the silence form on my tongue. with a soft, practiced push, i send a perfect o into the hazy air. it holds its form for a breathtaking second, a fragile, swirling halo in the neon-striped gloom before it begins to waver, stretching and softening into nothing. another follows, a twin ghost chasing the first into the quiet dark. this is my reckoning. not with fists or fury, but with these quiet rings, dissolving in the room where the only thing left to fight is the memory of the day.