Between rooms is where movement slows without stopping.
A doorway.
A landing.
A pause with no name.

You’re no longer where you were.
You’re not yet where you’re going.

Sometimes it’s marked by a small action —
washing your hands,
setting something down,
turning a handle.

These moments aren’t meant to hold attention.
They just soften the transition.

You pass through them many times a day
without noticing.

But they shape the rhythm of how you move through space.