He hesitated in the doorway. Not out of fear—7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ02xUoxkkmQ
But shame.
I recognized him before he stepped inside.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoBdWMx7lr4
The slope of his shoulders was heavier now.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeXqBnTAtB2
His eyes searched the tavern like it might accuse him of leaving.
But we keep no clocks here.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFzRJB20D5J
And the door remembers no judgment.
“I thought it would be gone,” he said.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMzTMpFfT3K
“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.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBSxOX6oo0e
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.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCNlxSNXrwT
And I did not answer.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrP0A0mrrQZ
Some reunions are measured only in presence.
When he finally smiled, it was quiet—like a wound remembering how to heal.
ns216.73.216.41da2
