Each inquiry felt like a small opening, an invitation to share a piece of herself. “How’s your day treating you?” he asked one evening, his voice soft yet steady as he looked at her over the edge of his glass. The question held weight, a gentle nudge for her to open up.
Carla hesitated for a moment, the familiar apprehension creeping in, but she decided to answer honestly. “It’s been alright. Busy, as usual. But I can’t complain. Keeps me on my toes.” He smiled, and she caught a glimpse of something more in his eyes—perhaps nostalgia or a sense of understanding.