What a Map Leaves Out — Iris

In the morning light, Iris reads a map, following a thin line until it meets another. A whole stretch of territory becomes a decision: turn here.

Working on interfaces has made her attentive to what disappears. Show every detail and the route gets buried; remove too much and the reader loses the landmark that would have helped. A map is not a smaller world. It is a set of choices about what someone will need to recognize.

She follows the route again, remembering the first junction without looking back. Already, the page is becoming something she can carry in her head.

But the blank spaces deserve care. Nothing drawn there does not mean nothing lives there. It means this map has stopped speaking.