He hesitated in the doorway. Not out of fear—6Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXld4jsKHnU
But shame.
I recognized him before he stepped inside.6Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeYGGb42oHG
The slope of his shoulders was heavier now.6Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbg43cgM0Rx
His eyes searched the tavern like it might accuse him of leaving.
But we keep no clocks here.6Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUyTndM2e6F
And the door remembers no judgment.
“I thought it would be gone,” he said.6Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBptKK3Vd5v
“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.6Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtiJtN9i14y
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.6Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcL6ykJjpYe
And I did not answer.6Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4FF4F4ZKHZ
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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