Adam sat in his usual corner of the flower shop, but this time the world around him didn't feel the same. Colors seemed dull, and the scents faded beneath the weight of a single memory that refused to leave him. He watched Layla arranging flowers on the table, and suddenly, the barrier between past and present shattered.
In her features, he saw a shadow of his departed lover—the pale face that had smiled despite illness, the eyes that had silently called for his help. His hand trembled on the table, and a lump formed in his throat, choking him.
Layla noticed the signal. She wheeled herself slowly closer and asked softly:
— "Adam… what's wrong?"
He couldn't look at her directly. He turned his face toward the window and said:
— "Sometimes… I feel like the past is chasing me. No matter how hard I try to run… it comes back to suffocate me."
He paused briefly, then added in a hoarse voice:
— "I was helpless. I watched it steal her from me, little by little, and I could do nothing… but watch her leave."
A heavy silence hung between them, broken only by the soft sound of rain outside. Layla reached out her hand to him, gently touching his trembling fingers, and said:
— "Pain doesn't disappear, Adam… but it changes. It becomes a part of you, yet it cannot define who you are. You are not your weakness, nor your loss… you are what remains after all of that."
His chest trembled at her words. He felt scorching tears threatening to spill from his eyes. For the first time in years, he allowed a single tear to slide down his cheek. Layla didn't pull away; she didn't show pity. She simply held his hand firmly, as if to say: You are not alone anymore.
That moment marked the beginning of a crack in the wall that had long imprisoned his heart.