Chapter 107

• The boutique had grown quieter in the weeks since the opening. Not from lack of interest, but from the rhythm we had promised to protect. No rush. No spotlight. Just time. Steady, deliberate time. Lena’s article had already begun to fade into the archives of the internet, but the people it brought continued to arrive quietly, respectfully, as though they, too, understood that this space wasn’t built to entertain.
• Julian was still arriving early. Sometimes earlier than I did. I would walk in and find him seated in the corner chair by the back window, a cup of coffee in one hand, a pen in the other, making notations on a sketch or drafting measurements with a quiet intensity that never looked strained. His presence had always anchored the boutique, but recently, it carried something else. Something softer. He was still himself, still thoughtful, still cautious with his words, but there was a gentleness now in the way he moved through the rooms. A stillness that came not from exhaustion, but from healing.
• He hadn’t spoken much about his family. I never pushed. I had learned, over time, that some truths reveal themselves when they are ready. And this one, whatever it was, had been wrapped in too much weight to be unwrapped casually.