CHAPTER 2 — FIFTY YEARS OF WAITING
He sat down slowly at the edge of the stall, though he didn’t intend to stay.
The old woman placed the pastry on the wooden counter between them.
Neither spoke for a moment.
Only the sound of distant traffic and the soft morning wind filled the space.
The man watched her hands—aged, trembling slightly, but still moving with careful memory, as if repeating something sacred.
“When did you start this?” he finally asked.
The question felt unnecessary the moment it left his mouth.
The woman thought for a moment.
“The day you left,” she said.
His fingers tightened slightly.
“Fifty years… and you still do this every day?”
“Yes.”
One word. No complaint. No regret. No expectation.
He gave a short, empty laugh.
“That’s a long time to hold onto something pointless.”
The woman looked at him for a long moment.
“I’m not holding onto you,” she said gently.
“I’m holding onto my promise.”
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Silence fell again—heavier this time.
The pastry sat untouched, but somehow it felt like it carried an entire life inside it.
