David told Mathers about the gym.
"Started using the treadmill after work," David said, a little sheepish. "Just a slow walk. Nothing crazy. Feels good, though."
Mathers smiled, that small, knowing smile he had — the kind that made you feel like you’d stumbled onto something important by yourself.
"That’s great, David," he said. "Movement without pressure. Just breathing, just being."
He tapped a finger lightly on the arm of his chair, thoughtful.
"You know," Mathers said, "if you’re enjoying the treadmill... why not walk to work too? Ditch the car when you can. Skip the traffic. Give yourself space to decompress before you even get to the office. It's walkable, right?"
David hesitated.
The idea hadn’t crossed his mind.
But now that it had, it sounded — good.
Simple. Freeing.
Mathers smiled again, softer this time.
"Sometimes life opens up when you stop racing through it."
The next morning, David laced up his old sneakers and set off on foot.
The city felt different when you weren’t trapped inside a car. The streets moved slower, the buildings looked taller. The air was crisp, full of early morning diesel and coffee smells. He fell into a rhythm, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, the sound of his footsteps strangely reassuring.
By the time he reached the office, he was flushed, awake, lighter than he’d felt in weeks.
Work was less kind.
Todd barely nodded when David passed his desk, buried deep in spreadsheets.
By mid-morning, David finally cornered him by the coffee machine.
"Hey, Todd," he said, keeping his voice casual. "You doing okay? I mean... I know I pushed a few things onto you last week."
Todd smiled — the quick, professional kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
"No worries, mate," Todd said. "Really. It’s all good."
He clapped David on the arm and walked off, coffee sloshing in his cup.
David stood there for a moment, a small knot forming low in his gut. Something about Todd's smile bothered him — too quick, too smooth — but he shook it off.
Everyone was stressed.
Everyone was scrambling to stay upright.
It wasn’t personal.
The walk home that evening was therapeutic.
David felt looser.
The sun had dipped below the rooftops, leaving the streets bathed in the soft orange of streetlights and the first flickering neon signs.
David took his time, weaving past shops shuttering for the night, buses sighing at curbsides, the low hum of a city settling into its evening rituals.
He was maybe halfway home when she stopped him.
A woman — thirties, maybe — smartly dressed but flushed from the cold, waving a phone in one hand.
"Hey, sorry," she said, a little breathless. "I’m trying to find the Holiday Inn? Google Maps has me spinning in circles."
David smiled automatically, stepping closer to look.
"You’re close," he said. "Six, maybe seven blocks that way. Just stay on this street, and you’ll see it."
The woman sighed in relief. "God, thank you. I was starting to think I’d end up sleeping in a bus shelter."
David laughed — genuinely, freely — and rattled off a few more landmarks she could look for.
She smiled back, stepping forward to squeeze his shoulders lightly, a quick, grateful gesture.
"You’re a lifesaver," she said. "Really."
And then she was gone, striding off into the neon twilight.
David stood there for a second, smiling to himself.
It was nothing — a passing moment — but it felt good.
It felt normal.
It felt... alive.
He walked the rest of the way home feeling lighter, a strange buoyancy humming just under his skin.
He thought about Mathers’s advice, about slowing down, about letting the world catch up to him instead of chasing it endlessly.
Maybe Mathers was right.
Maybe life wasn’t meant to be fought so hard.
Maybe it was meant to be lived.