The morning light stretched lazily across the village road, bathing everything in a warm, honeyed glow.
The sky was clear—no clouds, just that endless soft blue, like it too had slowed down to admire the day.
Billy and Artur walked side by side, their steps unhurried, quiet leaves crunching underfoot.
The town felt different today—awake, but in a way that felt patient, as though it too was holding its breath with them.
Billy's hand brushed against Artur's as they walked, their fingers eventually finding each other without a word.
He didn't speak, but the way he clutched that hand said everything: I'm ready, I think. But stay close.
Ahead, the bookstore came into view—tucked between ivy-laced brick and a fence freshly painted, its charm quiet but impossible to ignore.
The sign above the door rocked gently in the breeze, the new lettering catching the light like a quiet smile.
Billy slowed.
For a moment, he simply stared. At the windows they had cleaned.
