Smoke in the Silence: A November Experiment

The November wind cut through the city streets like a knife, sharp and unrelenting, as Marcus leaned against the damp brick wall outside his building. He flicked his lighter, cupping his hand against the breeze as the flame danced in and out of existence. He’d picked up smoking again—well, more seriously this time, he told himself—as an experiment. After all, he had decided on “No Sex November,” and without his usual distractions, the days felt oddly empty, as if he were standing at the edge of something unsettlingly quiet.

The lighter finally caught, and he brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply and letting the heat fill him. For a brief moment, everything else faded—the silence, the loneliness, the craving for something intangible. All replaced by that fleeting warmth in his chest. He could almost see it curling out of him with each exhale, the tendrils of smoke mingling with the misty air in the soft streetlights.

He wasn’t sure why he’d chosen to do it, this whole “No Sex November” thing. He’d laughed at the idea when he’d first heard it online, thinking it was just another one of those ridiculous social media challenges. But something about the absurdity of it—the idea of stripping away this one part of his life for a while—had stuck. He told himself it would be easy. He’d take a break from dating apps, from swiping right, from the casual conversations that rarely led anywhere. But he hadn’t anticipated how much space it would open up in his head, space that was now buzzing and restless.

The cigarette helped, though. There was something meditative in the ritual, in the rhythm of lighting up, inhaling, and letting go. He found himself wondering if this was what he’d been looking for all along—some kind of release, just not the one he’d been used to chasing.

As he smoked, he watched people pass by, bundled in thick scarves and hats, faces half-hidden in the shadows. They seemed distant, preoccupied with their own lives and secrets, moving like ghosts through the city. The chill settled deeper into him with each passing minute, yet he stayed there, nursing the cigarette, drawing out the moment.

A young woman walked by and glanced over, meeting his eyes for a split second before looking away. In a different November, he might’ve said something, or at least given her a nod. But this time, he only watched her go, letting her slip back into the anonymity of the night.

When the cigarette was almost gone, he flicked it onto the sidewalk, watching the tiny ember flare and die. He took one last look at the city, the lights stretching far into the distance, before heading back inside. November was only half over, but something felt different now, as if he were peeling back layers he hadn’t known he’d had.

In the coming days, he’d smoke a little less and walk a little more, wandering through the city with his hands in his pockets, feeling both lost and a little found.