That evening, Edward sat by Noah’s side as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the cityscape in hues of gold and amber. “I’m sorry, Noah,” he whispered, feeling the weight of lost time. “I didn’t see you were still here, son.”

As if in response, Noah’s fingers twitched—a subtle movement, yet monumental. Edward felt an unexpected warmth flood his chest; it was as if a door slightly ajar had been nudged open by the softest breeze.

In the following days, Edward began spending more time at home. He watched Rosa interact with Noah during her cleaning routines—not as a caretaker, but as a friend who saw beyond the wheelchair and silence. She often played music, encouraging Noah’s participation, even if it was just a slight movement or a lingering gaze.