"Do you remember the way the fog rolled in, covering the rooftops like a lost lullaby?" Her voice was an echo, tracing the edges of a memory untouched by time.

"Over there, they used to sell chocolates wrapped in stars," murmured the stranger, eyes glazed with distant reflections. It was a market now long deserted, save for the whispers of the past.

"Once, we danced on the rooftops, beneath the gaze of the moon," said the old man with a voice like rustling leaves, his presence a shadow in the twilight.