One rainy afternoon, as I was just curling up on my sofa with my journal, scribbling away uninhibited, occasionally peeping out of the window, I suddenly realised that I was, in fact, indulging in a luxury called the empty space, an interstice.I was first introduced to this term ‘interstice’ at school, when we had to read (learn!) an interview with Umberto Eco, wherein he had mentioned that we have these empty spaces in our lives, called interstices, and he used to work during these empty spaces. That’s how he was able to do all those things he did in his life. Whether the productivity bit clicked with me or not, the term and the concept stuck with me from there on.Fast forward to this day, when there is an entire reverse narrative of slow living that we are chasing (quite paradoxically though), and I keep looking for these empty spaces each day.Maybe an hour or even a minute, finding it and relishing it is a rewarding experience in itself.The process starts with first identifying and acknowledging that it is indeed an interstice. For me, I have this additional struggle as well, to convince myself that I have actually earned it and I am allowed entry into that empty space. Once that initial battle is won (and a third of the interstice already exhausted), the next step is finding the perfect ambience. I try to find a silent nook, preferably with a window. Extra points for the monsoon too. Getting the paraphernalia ready is another significant yet penultimate milestone. An unread book that’s tired of screaming for your attention for months, a cup of coffee and a journal, if need be. And now the most important yet difficult step, to leave your phone behind. Else, the empty space gets eerily, deceptively transformed into an effervescent bubble, and you keep aimlessly, unconsciously trotting through random, transient worlds. By the time you look up from the creatively curated day in the life of that now-familiar stranger, you realise that your precious interstice has just gotten gobbled away.Hence, the key is not just in being fortunate enough to find an empty space, but being smart enough to retain it, savour it. But once this battle is surmounted, what waits is an abundance of what’s unharnessed so far – maybe the simple pleasures of nothingness – staring at those beautiful puddles that form as raindrops gently splash, while your mind replays that one memory in the background, maybe realising that the flowers that lay on the ground, swept freshly by the morning breeze, hold beauty too, of silent anticipation. The temple bells, and the echoes from around, might sound soothing, after all.And if you go a step further, and the book that has waited for you, for so long, finally gets its due and the pages spring open, there are chances that at least one sentence might resonate, and that thought lingers with you, as you sip your coffee.And sparks out of nowhere come to you. For instance, what captured my attention was the underrated beauty of normalcy – the mundane. The joy of getting back to the privilege of routine, where I know the flow of patterns to the edges, where the day bends, where it smoothens out, where it gently rises and when it prepares for descent.Sometimes, as you stare, after all those ruminations gently subside, a fleeting yet intense blankness visits you too. Can we call it calm? Not sure. Is it peace? May be. But that is powerful enough to steer you through the rest of the day.Prabha Prakash is a chartered accountant based in Kerala, who likes to describe herself as an auditor who loves words more than numbers. Her first collection of poetry, Lost Monsoon, was released by Writers Workshop, Kolkata. She can be reached @prabhaprakashwrites on Instagram.We’ve grown up hearing that “it’s the small things” that matter. That’s true, of course, but it’s also not – there are Big Things that we know matter, and that we shouldn’t take our eyes, minds or hearts off of. As journalists, we spend most of our time looking at those Big Things, trying to understand them, break them down, and bring them to you.And now we’re looking to you to also think about the small things – the joy that comes from a strangers’ kindness, incidents that leave you feeling warm, an unexpected conversation that made you happy, finding spaces of solidarity. Write to us about your small things at thewiresmallthings@gmail.com in 800 words or less, and we will publish selected submissions. We look forward to reading about your experiences, because even small things can bring big joys.Read the series here.