The village was quiet in the way only old places know how to be.
In the mornings, mist curled lazily over the dusty road. Chickens wandered without purpose. The small bell above the wooden door of the shop chimed whenever someone stepped inside. It was a sound Liam had come to know well.
Three years ago, Liam had arrived in the village with a suitcase, a limp in his step, and a silence that sat heavily in his chest.
The accident had taken many things from him. Pieces of memory. Pieces of himself. The doctors said the village air would help him recover. His grandmother believed the same.
So every morning he sat behind the wooden counter of her tiny shop while she moved slowly between the shelves, humming songs older than both of them.
And every afternoon, at almost exactly the same time, the bell above the door would ring.
That was when she came.
The first time Liam noticed her, she stood quietly near the shelf of sweets, her fingers tracing the labels like she was reading them without actually seeing them.
She had soft eyes. The kind that looked like they held entire stories behind them.
"Can I help you?" Liam asked.
She smiled.
"I just need the same thing as yesterday."
He frowned a little.
"I don't think I've seen you before."
She tilted her head, amused.
"That's okay. You will."
He didn't understand what she meant then.
But the next day she returned.
And the day after that.
Always the same time. Always the same soft smile. Always buying the same small packet of peppermint sweets.
After a week, Liam stopped asking what she needed. He would already have it waiting on the counter.
"Peppermints again?" he'd say.
"And again tomorrow," she'd reply.
Her name was Elena.