The hours slipped by, unnoticed. The shift in the air was subtle, like the difference between dusk and night.
Her phone buzzed once, a reminder of the outside world.
She didn’t reach for it, didn’t even glance in its direction.
“Want to go for a walk?” I suggested, hoping a change of scenery might lighten the mood.
She lifted her eyes to meet mine for the first time that morning.
“Sure,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
We stood, the chairs scraping against the floor, a sound that seemed too loud in the heavy silence.
Outside, the wind was gentle, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass.
We walked side by side, our steps in sync, yet our minds miles apart.
“Remember when we used to come here as kids?” I asked, pointing to the old playground, now overgrown with weeds.
She nodded, a hint of a smile flickering across her lips.
“Yeah, we thought it was the whole world,” she said, her voice warming slightly.
I chuckled, remembering the adventures we used to imagine in this small corner of the neighborhood.
“It felt like it,” I agreed, feeling the nostalgia wrap around us like a soft blanket.
“Sometimes I wish we could go back,” she admitted, her voice tinged with a sadness I couldn’t quite place.
“Me too,” I replied, understanding the longing for simpler times.
We continued to walk, the silence now companionable, the weight of earlier conversations easing slightly.
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