They sat there quietly for a while, the clink of silverware against porcelain the only sound between them. There was no dramatic music, no sweeping declarations of love. Just the warmth of the candle, the silence of shared space, and the quiet, aching hope that maybe—just maybe, the story hadn’t ended yet.

Not entirely.

Time has a curious way of sculpting people. Like river water smoothing jagged rocks, it had rounded Michael Helwart's sharper edges. He ...