And as the days turned into weeks, he found solace in her company, knowing that he could still touch the future—if only in small, quiet ways. Then one evening, Carla noticed he seemed particularly tired. His movements were slower, and his voice was weaker.
“You alright?” she asked, worry creeping into her voice. He looked up, a faint smile on his lips. “Just getting old,” he replied, his voice trailing off. “But it’s been nice coming here. You make this place feel… less lonely.”