Two days later, I spotted her again, this time in the early morning. She was on her porch, sipping from a mug, her eyes following the path of a lone car driving past. I considered waving, but the moment passed.
The neighborhood was quiet, as it always was at this hour. I found it comforting, the predictability of it. Yet, her presence added a new layer to the landscape, one I wasn’t sure how to navigate.
That afternoon, I saw her walking down the street, her hands in her pockets, taking in the surroundings. Our paths crossed at the corner, and she smiled—a small, tentative gesture.
“Settling in?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“Getting there,” she replied, her voice softer this time.
We stood there for a moment, the conversation hanging between us. I felt the urge to ask her about that question again, but the words wouldn’t come.
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