You nod.
She doesn’t say “welcome back” with grand theatrics. She never does. Instead, she tilts her head, looks at you with those deep, knowing eyes that have already read your exhaustion before you’ve spoken a word, and offers the smallest of smiles.
And then you hear it. The gentle rustle of fabric. The soft pad of footsteps.
You nod.
She doesn’t say “welcome back” with grand theatrics. She never does. Instead, she tilts her head, looks at you with those deep, knowing eyes that have already read your exhaustion before you’ve spoken a word, and offers the smallest of smiles.
And then you hear it. The gentle rustle of fabric. The soft pad of footsteps.
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