Both of them, perhaps unconsciously, had taken June's words to heart. The tension that lingered earlier had eased, replaced by a simple agreement, today was their day. And so, they set out into the little town together, side by side.
The town itself was small, but it brimmed with a quiet charm. Cobblestone streets wound gently between old brick buildings, their shutters painted in soft pastels. Hanging flower baskets spilled with color from the windowsills, and the air smelled faintly of fresh bread from the bakery on the corner.
Kafka led the way, pointing out corners of the town she hadn't seen yet.
Their first stop was the flower market that bloomed right in the center square. Dozens of stalls lined the cobblestones, each bursting with color: baskets of wild daisies, bunches of roses, sprigs of lavender hanging upside down to dry.
