The sky had begun its slow descent into dusk, painting the village with streaks of grey and gold, but Billy didn't notice any of it.
He wandered.
Not with purpose—just… away.
The teacup remained in his hand, now wrapped more tightly than ever, as though protecting it might somehow shield the ache inside his chest. His feet carried him through narrow paths between old fences, past shuttered windows and empty benches. A soft breeze swept through the trees, rustling leaves like whispers behind his back.
He sat on a low stone wall beneath an overgrown fig tree, elbows on his knees, chin resting on one hand.
Maybe I was just the in-between. A sweet pause before the story picks up where it was meant to.
Maybe I never stood a chance against someone he never stopped loving.
His thoughts echoed too loudly in the stillness. The more he tried to push them away, the sharper they came back.
