The morning sun fell slowly over Willowbay's market street, warming the wooden roof of The Paper Finch. Elara Hart stood behind the counter, threading a string through the beak of a crimson origami bird. It would hang above the shop window with the rest — a flock made of paper instead of feathers.
Her shop wasn't big. It fit exactly three visitors at once, four if one of them didn't mind getting poked by wind chimes. But she liked it small. Small things didn't leave.
She was arranging a set of pastel bookmarks when the bell over the door clicked — not a ring, just a dull sound, like someone had pushed it just enough.
It was him again.
The quiet man with the dark coat and the tired eyes. He seemed a bit different from others as if he was isolated in his own world. He always came alone and never said a word. He didn't browse. He didn't ask for anything. He only looked — at the paper birds, the folded flowers, the way her fingers moved.
Today, he walked straight to the counter and pointed at a sky-blue bird with music notes printed on its wings.
Elara hesitated. "This one?"
He nodded once and looked away.
She wrapped it in a brown paper without asking questions, used to the silence now. When she told him the price, he reached into his coat pocket and, instead of money first, placed a note on the counter.
Not a money note. A written one.
"Thank you."
Two words. Neat handwriting. Straight lines. Almost too careful.
He paid, took the paper bird, and left without meeting her eyes. The bell made that soft click again as he disappeared into the pale morning fog drifting in from the sea.
Elara stood still for a moment.
Then, for reasons she wouldn't admit, she kept the note.
She then thought, "God knows what this man is. He didn't even pay for it. I'm not selling these for free!! I couldn't even confront him. Doesn't he know that he should have paid!?"
She kept murmuring until a little boy came to buy a bookmark.