He hesitated in the doorway. Not out of fear—25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVRbJBfMzX3
But shame.
I recognized him before he stepped inside.25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2u5HjrwGCq
The slope of his shoulders was heavier now.25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdTb4FlgwfF
His eyes searched the tavern like it might accuse him of leaving.
But we keep no clocks here.25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3A5xfeNXtg
And the door remembers no judgment.
“I thought it would be gone,” he said.25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0eTL4kDTMA
“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.25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQbb9ihuHuB
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.25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6SbCLCTQYl
And I did not answer.25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeE3aPtut7y
Some reunions are measured only in presence.
When he finally smiled, it was quiet—like a wound remembering how to heal.
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