Three days passed before she came again.
Rowen spent them in his usual routine—repairs, short walks, tea gone cold on the counter—but the quiet no longer felt like the old comfort. It was a silence that leaned forward, holding its breath.
He found himself thinking less about work and more about the shop at night, about the half-lowered shutter and the muted light inside. He didn't call it waiting, but he knew that's what it was.
The bell chimed just after dark.
Lira stepped in, closing the door softly behind her. Her hair was loose, her expression calm, but the way she moved—slow, deliberate—made it clear she wasn't just passing by.
"Hi," she said, almost a whisper.
"Evening," Rowen replied, his voice even.
He pulled the shutter down to its usual halfway mark, the band of streetlight narrowing along the floor. Outside sounds dimmed, leaving only the low hum of the ceiling fan and the faint ticking of a cooling soldering iron.
Lira wandered behind the counter without asking, standing close enough that Rowen could feel the heat of her presence. She glanced at the half-disassembled phone on the bench.
"You're always working," she murmured.
"It's what I do."
"Maybe you needed a break and didn't know it."
Her hand found the edge of the bench, then brushed against his. This time, she didn't move it away.
Rowen didn't pull back.
The quiet between them shifted, heavy but not uncomfortable.
Lira turned slightly, leaning closer, her shoulder brushing his. The air seemed to still with the weight of that simple contact.
When she looked up, their faces were close enough that no words were needed.
The kiss was slow, almost cautious at first—neither of them rushing, as if acknowledging that the line had been crossed was more important than the act itself.
It lasted only a moment before she drew back, eyes searching his for a reaction. Rowen stayed silent, steady, his breath slow.
She gave a small nod, as if confirming something to herself, and stepped back.
"I should go," she said quietly. "See you soon."
Her hand brushed his wrist as she passed, deliberate but soft, and the bell chimed as the door closed behind her.
Rowen locked the shop and stepped out into the cool night.
The street was empty, the lamplight warm against the pavement.
For the first time in years, his life didn't feel still.
It felt alive—and heavy with a quiet he couldn't retreat into anymore.