A Kind Stranger
Jacob brewed her tea with careful hands. He laid his coat over her shoulders and slept by the door, guarding her. He asked about her dreams, her favorite books, her happiest memories. No one had ever cared enough to ask.
Days turned into weeks. Each morning he led her to the river, painting the world with his words—the shimmer of sunlight, the sway of trees, the chatter of birds—until Emily felt she could almost see them.
For the first time in years, she laughed. In that ragged shack, she felt her heart begin to open.
One evening, she asked softly:
“Were you always homeless?”
Jacob paused.
“Not always,” he murmured. Nothing more. She didn’t press.
