The Light Between Seasons – Chapter 3: The Quiet That Follows

September, 2017 – Lisbon, Portugal Some things don’t disappear. They retreat. Into quiet corners of memory. Into the folds of worn letters. Into the space between a breath and a name. Clara hadn’t said Elias’s name in years. Not aloud, anyway. She had learned to carry him differently—tucked behind the photographs that never made it to galleries, folded into the black-and-white portraits of strangers with eyes too familiar. Her life had stretched in the years since she left New York: Dakar, Seoul, Marrakesh, Montevideo. She chased light across continents, always moving, always framing beauty just before it slipped away. But even then, she could never quite escape the moment at JFK—the kiss that wasn’t a goodbye, the silence that followed. Sometimes the absence said more than presence ever could. Clara lived in an apartment above a bakery in Alfama now. The windows overlooked tiled rooftops and narrow stairways where stray cats wandered like old souls. She taught workshop...
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