There was a time when the streets buzzed with an urgency that felt palpable—the footsteps of many flashing stories unfurling in unison. We were all here to witness something, though none of us knew what it was. We stopped by the café, a routine intermission, where the smell of coffee mingled with the dust of old books.
I spoke with Lena that day, her voice like a whisper from a forgotten era. She said, "Sometimes, I think the past isn't behind us but tangled in the fabric of the present." I nodded, not entirely understanding but appreciating the weight of her words. It felt as if the universe had paused for us to weave our thoughts into its ever-expanding tapestry.
Days melted into weeks, and the café became our shared sanctuary. There, time was suspended, and all lived experiences gathered like rain in a shallow pool, reflecting the world with a clarity that blurred the edges of reality.