The days returned to their usual rhythm, though it no longer felt the same.
Rowen rose with the morning light, ate in silence, and walked the same path to the shop. The streets were as quiet as ever—an old man cycling slowly, a dog sprawled in a patch of sun, a neighbor tapping dust off a rug.
The routine was intact.
Yet, somewhere beneath it, a small expectation had taken root.
He found himself glancing at the door now and then, not consciously waiting, but aware of the moments the bell didn't chime.
When it finally did, it wasn't surprising.
Lira stepped in lightly, no phone, no tablet, no speaker in hand. Just herself, in a soft cardigan and hair loosely tied.
"Hey," she said casually, leaning against the counter. "Thought I'd drop by. You looked busy the last few times."
"Work's the same," Rowen said.
She let her eyes roam the shop like she was cataloging small details she'd missed before. The old fan creaking, the line of screwdrivers, the faint smell of solder.
"You really haven't changed much," she said after a moment. "Same expression as back in school. Like the world can't bother you."
Rowen didn't answer. He just shifted a half-repaired phone aside.
Lira took out her own phone and turned the screen toward him. "Look at this place we went last weekend. You'd probably like it—quiet, lots of water."
She leaned closer over the counter, shoulders brushing. Neither of them moved away.
For a brief moment, the shop's quiet seemed to tilt, like the air itself was watching.
Then she straightened, tucking her phone away. "Anyway, just wanted to say hi. I'll see you around."
"Yeah."
The bell chimed softly as she stepped out.
Rowen stayed where he was for a while, staring at the spot she had occupied. His silence felt different now—not the old retreating kind, but something that leaned forward, waiting.