The week began like any other, with soft light sliding through Rowen's small bedroom window and the low hum of the ceiling fan marking time.
He brewed his tea, watched the steam rise, and realized he was listening for something he couldn't name.
The shop felt different now, though nothing had changed. Tools in their places. Screens, wires, and parts lined in quiet order. But the air seemed to hold a quiet expectation, like the walls knew what he was waiting for.
She came in on the third day.
No phone, no tablet. Just herself, stepping through the doorway with the bell's soft chime.
"Hey," she said lightly, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
Rowen nodded. "Hey."
She leaned against the counter, her bag sliding off her shoulder. For a few minutes, they talked about small things—how cold the mornings had become, how the main road would be noisy tomorrow because of some market setup.
Then, without a word, she reached for a small wireless earbud case from her bag. "This one's being stubborn. Left ear keeps cutting out."
Rowen opened it, checked the contacts, and cleaned them with a small cloth. It was hardly a repair, but he worked slowly, deliberately.
Lira stayed close, leaning just enough that he could feel the nearness of her shoulder.
When he handed the case back, her fingers brushed his.
This time, her hand didn't move away immediately.
She didn't look at him; she just let the touch linger, as if it belonged there.
Rowen didn't pull back.
"It's strange," she said after a moment, voice soft. "How people can share a life and still feel… like they're walking around each other instead of with each other."
Rowen didn't answer. His silence had become part of their language.
She finally lifted her hand, sliding the earbud case into her bag. Then she adjusted her strap and straightened, a faint, knowing smile on her lips.
"Thanks," she said quietly. "Even if I didn't really need the help."
Rowen watched her leave. The bell chimed softly as the door closed.
That evening, when he locked up, the faint memory of her touch still clung to his skin.
As he walked home, the streetlamps hummed in the still air, and he felt the quiet of his life wrap around him differently now.
It no longer belonged to him alone.