The aunt Who folded Towels

"my aunt was in the room folding towels, the same way she always did, that specific fold she taught me once and I never got right, and it took me a while to even register anything was off, just watched her for a bit, comfortable in it. she looked up at me at some point and smiled but didn't say hi, just went back to the towels like we were mid conversation already. I sat down near her, on the floor I think, though the floor felt more like carpet from a house I don't actually know, and I didn't feel scared or sad, more just this settled kind of calm, like nothing needed explaining. she hummed something, a tune I couldn't place, never could place in real life either honestly, always just hers. asked her something, can't remember what now, maybe just how she was, and she answered but the words came out soft, muffled almost, like hearing someone through a wall, and I nodded along anyway, understanding it in that dream way where the meaning gets through even if the sound doesn't. she reached over and fixed my hair without asking, small thing, but it felt like the most normal thing in the world. room shifted a little while we sat there, towels turning into something else in the stack, sheets maybe, and she kept folding without noticing or without caring. I didn't want to leave, didn't want the moment to end, just wanted to keep sitting there in that quiet with her humming, the pile of laundry never getting smaller no matter how much she folded. faded out slow, the way peaceful ones do, her still humming as the room got dimmer, and I woke up feeling oddly calm, that same settled feeling sticking around for a while, missing her but not in the sharp way, more just soft, like the dream had let me visit for a bit."