"Are you from around here?" the girl asked one day, her voice light with curiosity.
The man took a slow sip of his soup before answering.
"I am from far away."
"I see…"
They spoke like this from time to time—if it could even be called talking.
Their conversations were short, scattered, and often one-sided.
But neither seemed to mind.
Most of the time, they sat in silence.
And when the girl left for the night, the man returned to his usual self—quiet, distant, indifferent.
Days passed.
Whenever it was time to replenish the ingredients, he sold her new vegetables, and their exchange continued as it always had.
But one morning, something changed.
The girl didn't come to take the pot.
At first, the man thought little of it.
Maybe she had simply forgotten.
Maybe she was busy.
But as the hours stretched on, the thought lingered in his mind longer than it should have.
By midday, a different possibility crept into his thoughts.
Maybe she was sick of him.
