the wind blows (8)

“I thought I’d never see you again.” The figure remains silent, but the air grows colder, the kind of cold that seeps into the soul. The man reaches out, his hand trembling.

The figure moves closer, its form becoming clearer. A face begins to take shape—her face. The woman from the photograph. Her eyes meet his, and for a moment, the wind stops. The world holds its breath.

“Why did you leave?” he whispers, his voice cracking under the weight of the question. “Why did you go?”Her lips move, but no sound emerges. She raises a hand, reaching for him, her expression a mix of sorrow and longing.