What Remains After
Rege had not intended to stop. The deli was just another place along his route, another ordinary stop in a day structured by precision, time, and obligation. He passed it without thought, his attention already fixed on the next meeting, the next decision, the next expectation waiting for him. Until he saw her. She sat by the window, unaware of everything beyond the small world she had created for herself in that moment. A plate of warm food in front of her, steam rising softly, her fingers moving with quiet ease as she ate. There was nothing extraordinary about the act itself. And yet—everything about her made it so. She ate without hesitation. Without restraint. Without the guarded caution he had grown used to seeing in others. There was no performance, no awareness of who might be
- Writer
