The rain had stopped, leaving a slick sheen on the cobblestones of the old quarter. He stood beneath a flickering gas lamp, the light catching the dampness in his hair and highlighting the weariness etched around his eyes. Across the narrow street, the cafe windows glowed with a warm, inviting light, filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses. He watched a couple inside, their hands intertwined, sharing a single dessert. He’d been standing there for nearly an hour, the collar of his coat pulled high, the chill seeping into his bones. He wasn’t looking at the cafe, not really. He was focused on a single, chipped tile on the pavement, tracing its outline with his gaze, lost in a memory he couldn’t quite grasp, a feeling of something precious slipping away, grain by grain. A stray cat darted across the street, disappearing into the shadows, and he didn’t even notice. He just kept watching the tile.