He hesitated in the doorway. Not out of fear—68Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3wJqzQ9Mb4
But shame.
I recognized him before he stepped inside.68Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡD0ud8J62X7
The slope of his shoulders was heavier now.68Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhkeMJkwD8F
His eyes searched the tavern like it might accuse him of leaving.
But we keep no clocks here.68Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡT5CLzbnPC1
And the door remembers no judgment.
“I thought it would be gone,” he said.68Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwJjgsDd4ul
“I thought you would be gone.”
I nodded toward his old seat. The one beneath the hook that once held his traveling cloak.
He sat. Slowly. As though waiting for something to break.
I had already started brewing before he arrived.
A cup for return. One that holds warmth longer than most.68Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbxS8Zac9SJ
Crafted from emberleaf, driftcane, and a single drop of dew from a blade of grass found near the doorstep, long ago.
When I placed it in front of him, his hands trembled.
“You remembered,” he whispered.
“Of course,” I said.
He did not ask how long it had been.68Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpjxG4bQPek
And I did not answer.68Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ39rDTRwCdE
Some reunions are measured only in presence.
When he finally smiled, it was quiet—like a wound remembering how to heal.
ns216.73.216.206da2
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