THE WEIGHT OF TIME

James walked away from Sophie's house, his footsteps slow, his face unreadable to anyone passing by. But inside, the silence was deafening.

Her voice still echoed in his ears.

> "I think you should go now."

He had heard that sentence before.

In another city. Another life. Many times.

Montreal.

Moscow.

Dresden.

Every place he'd lingered too long, where hearts had opened to him, only to retreat once they learned the truth.

But this was different.

Sophie wasn't like the others.

She wasn't afraid of death.

She lived next to it.

And still, she had asked him to go.

His fingers twitched at his side.

Maybe I should leave, he thought. Maybe that's the kindest thing I could do.

But another thought followed.

Maybe she needs me to stay.

---

When he returned home, Mrs. Williams was in the garden, trimming the lavender that grew in quiet clusters near the wall.

She glanced up when she heard the gate, her eyes narrowing just slightly.

"You're back early."

James nodded, setting his keys on the stone ledge.

"She asked me to leave."

Mrs. Williams stood straighter, brushing dirt from her palms. "Did you tell her everything?"

"As much as I could."

She walked toward him, her hands gentle and her voice softer now. "And how did she take it?"

He looked down. "She didn't scream. She didn't run. But she didn't ask me to stay either."

Mrs. Williams sighed and sat on the old wooden bench under the plum tree. "She's human, James. And she's young. That girl has so many battles already. Give her time to understand what she's even feeling."

He didn't move.

She patted the spot beside her. "Sit."

He did.

"You know, the last time I saw you like this," she said, "you were leaving St. Petersburg. Remember? You were convinced you'd ruined something."

"I had."

"No, James. You just didn't wait long enough."

He looked out at the garden, the colors blurred by thought.

"I don't know if staying is the right thing."

"Maybe it isn't. But running never healed you either."

He said nothing.

Mrs. Williams reached over and touched his hand.

"Let her come to you. When she's ready."

He looked at her finally. "What if she never is?"

Mrs. Williams smiled, weary and warm. "Then at least you loved her honestly. That has to count for something."

---

That night, James stood in the doorway of the quiet library. He didn't light a lamp. He just stood in the dark, staring at the words engraved on the old plaque:

> James Abrams, for his first love, Elena.

And beneath it, barely legible anymore:

> Some people pass through your life like storms. Others like seasons. But she… she felt like forever.

He turned away and whispered into the silence:

"Please, Sophie. Just don't be another goodbye."

And the house held its breath with him.

He didn't know whether to stay or move on

---