Flash Fiction - “Where Peace Does Not Ask to Be Watched”

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Evening settles gently in Thailand.

The heat of the day loosens its grip, leaving behind warm air that moves slowly, as if it has learned patience. Light softens as it drapes itself over tiled roofs and quiet courtyards. The city does not dim so much as it exhales.


She walks without hurry.


There is beauty everywhere—carefully kept, intentionally offered. Lanterns glow. Incense curls upward in thin, disciplined lines. Temples rest behind gates that invite pause rather than entry. Everything seems arranged to calm the senses.


And yet, she has learned to look twice at calm.


Not all peace is peace.

Some is curated.

Some is practiced for survival.

Some is maintained by silence rather than safety.


She slows her steps, letting her body match the pace of the evening. The ground beneath her feet is warm, steady. She notices how her shoulders lower when nothing asks her to perform tranquility.


A verse comes to her—not corrective, but clarifying:


“Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” — John 14:27


Not as the world giveth.


She carries the words with her as she passes a temple threshold. She does not cross it. The threshold itself feels sufficient—an invitation to discern rather than consume. She has learned that not every beautiful thing is meant to be entered.


Desire, she knows now, is not dangerous by nature. It becomes so when it is rushed, unnamed, or shamed into hiding.


The air moves across her skin without claim. She breathes easily. There was a time when warmth felt like exposure, when gentleness was confused with threat. But tonight, gentleness stands on its own—unarmed, unpressured.


She remembers another truth, steady and kind:


“For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.” — 2 Timothy 1:7


Soundness of mind, she reflects, allows desire to exist without needing to act. It allows beauty to be appreciated without being possessed.


She passes a small courtyard where people sit quietly, speaking little. Their calm is genuine—not displayed, not rehearsed. No one watches to see who is peaceful enough. No one earns stillness through effort.


This feels different.


She thinks of how often peace has been mistaken for compliance—how women, especially, are praised for being quiet when what they are really being asked to do is disappear. God’s peace does not erase presence. It steadies it.


“Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.” — Isaiah 26:3


Stayed.

Not scattered.

Not suppressed.


She walks on, the path lit softly by lanterns that illuminate without spotlighting. Beauty here does not beg for attention. It exists whether or not it is admired.


She pauses near a small shrine set back from the road. Offerings sit neatly arranged. The space is tended, respected. She does not linger long. Reverence does not require captivity.


She has learned that God’s kindness does not trap.


“The kindness of God leadeth thee to repentance.” — Romans 2:4


Kindness leads.

It does not corner.


The evening deepens. Crickets begin their rhythm, steady and unbothered. The warmth remains, but it no longer presses. It simply is.


She rests her hand briefly against a stone wall, grounding herself. Peace settles—not because everything is quiet, but because nothing is demanding her body surrender itself to belong.


This, she realizes, is what ordered desire feels like.

Present.

Unashamed.

Contained by care.


She lifts her eyes toward the darkening sky, where the last of the light fades gently, without ceremony. There is no pressure to hold onto the day. Night is allowed to arrive.


A final verse rises—not as instruction, but as reassurance:


“The LORD is gracious, and full of compassion; slow to anger, and of great mercy.” — Psalm 145:8


Slow.

Merciful.

Enough.


She turns back toward the path that will carry her onward, steps unforced, breath steady. Thailand holds behind her—beautiful, warm, discerning.


And she walks on, having learned again that true peace does not need to be watched to be real, and God’s kindness never asks her to disappear in order to remain.



⧪


Explore


Still With Her: Flash Fictions (New: Monthly on the 5th, 10th, 15th, 20th, 25th, and 30th)

Bound Gently: Veiled in Crimson - Short Fiction Book (Completed)

Spoken Before Him: Beloved Daughter - Prayer Book (Completed)

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