They started talking before the sun fully set.

It became natural. Like something that had always been waiting.

Their conversations grew longer, but never rushed. They spoke about ordinary things—roads he had walked, mornings she disliked, the kind of weather that made work harder.

Sometimes, their words overlapped. Sometimes, they didn’t.

He found himself noticing her even when she wasn’t speaking. The way she tucked her hands into her sleeves when the air turned cold. The way her voice softened when she spoke about nothing in particular.

She noticed him too.

The way his shoulders relaxed when he sat beside the well.
The way he listened, as if her words were enough.

Once, she said something that made him pause.

“I like it when you come back,” she admitted, quietly.

He didn’t answer right away.

Not because he didn’t feel it.
But because some feelings deserved care before words.

“I do too,” he finally said.

It was simple. It was honest.

Nothing changed after that. And yet, everything did.

The space between them felt different. Not smaller. Just warmer.

They still kept their distance. Still stood up when it was time to leave. Still turned away first.

But now, when they walked apart, both of them carried the same thought—

That this was no longer just a meeting.

It was something they were beginning to feel.

And they held it gently.