A Single Nod

He returned the next day, and the day after, each visit a quiet pilgrimage to the low stone wall. He never stayed long, only long enough for the rhythm of the harbor to fade, replaced by the garden’s profound and unwavering silence.

On the third day, as he watched the slow unfurling of a fern, he felt a gaze upon him. He looked up, and for the first time, their eyes met.

The woman, her hands still in the soil, gave a single, deliberate nod. It was not a greeting, but an acknowledgement, an unspoken permission to be present in the quiet space she tended.