For a while, neither of them rushed to speak. The soft creak of the swing, the rustle of leaves above, and the distant sound of water from the fountain filled the silence comfortably.
Then the words began to flow.
William asked her about her childhood, about the things she liked to eat, the habits she had picked up without realizing, the moments she remembered clearly and the ones that still felt blurred. Bella answered honestly, sometimes laughing, sometimes pausing to think. She asked him about his younger days, about his work, about her father. His voice softened whenever he spoke of the past, but there was no bitterness left in it now, only longing and quiet acceptance.
Somehow, the conversation drifted naturally to computers.
