Outside, the rain turned into a soft mist. Inside, the world felt still. They weren't looking for a perfect ending anymore—just a new beginning. Because this time, they weren't going to let the music stop.
Clara took the seat across from him without being asked. She looked the same, yet entirely different; the sharp edges of her youth had softened into a weary, beautiful kind of grace.
For an hour, they spoke in circles—about jobs that paid well but felt empty, and cities that were bright but cold. The silence between their sentences was heavy with the weight of the years they’d lost. Maybe This Time - Michael Martin Murphey (Lyrics) рџЋµ
"I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be," she replied, her eyes searching his.
He didn't have to look up to know it was Clara. Some rhythms are burned into the soul—the way she shook her umbrella, the specific cadence of her boots on the hardwood. Outside, the rain turned into a soft mist
He reached out, his fingers brushing hers. "We missed it the first time, didn't we?"
"You're late," Elias said, his voice a little rougher than he intended. Because this time, they weren't going to let the music stop
Clara smiled, a small, fragile thing. "Maybe we just weren't ready then."