She wasn't expecting anyone to be there.
But one Thursday evening in July, someone was sitting on her bench.
A boy.
He looked about her age maybe a year older. Dust clung to his slippers. The hem of his jeans was frayed like he had outgrown them too fast. He was bent over a notebook, sketching with the kind of focus that made the rest of the world disappear.
Mira slowed her steps.
"That's my seat," she said before she could stop herself.
The boy looked up.
His eyes were dark. Calm. Not annoyed. Just curious.
"Your seat?"
"Yes."
He glanced around at the empty hill. The cracked court below. The leaning bench.
"Did you buy it?"
"No."
"Did you build it?"
"No."
"Did you name it?"
She hesitated. "No."
He tilted his head slightly. "Then how is it yours?"
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then said, stubbornly, "I come here every day."
He studied her face, like he was deciding whether that counted as proof of ownership.
After a moment, he shifted a few inches to the side.
"There's room for two."
She almost refused.
Almost.
But the sky was already beginning to burn orange, and she wasn't about to miss it because of pride.
So she sat.
They didn't speak for a while.
He kept sketching.
She kept watching the horizon.
The wind moved softly through the grass. Somewhere below, someone laughed too loudly. A motorcycle passed.
Mira glanced at his notebook.
"You're drawing the tree," she said.
"Yeah."
The lone tree stood a few meters away from the bench, slightly bent from years of wind.
"It looks… lonely," she added.
He shrugged. "It is."
"How do you know?"
"It stands here every day."
She let out a small snort. "That doesn't make it lonely."
"It doesn't make it not lonely either."
That made her look at him more carefully.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Eli."
"Mira."
He nodded once, like that was enough.
"You really come here every day?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Why?"
She watched the sun lower itself slowly behind the buildings.
"Because it leaves," she said.
He frowned slightly. "The sun?"
"Yes."
"It comes back."
She shook her head. "Not the same way."
That made him pause.
For a second, he looked like he wanted to argue. Then he didn't.
The sky faded into deeper shades of pink.
They stayed until the light disappeared.
When Mira stood to leave, she didn't say goodbye.
She wasn't sure if she wanted him to come back.
But the next day
he was there again.