It was still 6:47.
The sky wore that soft shade of blue that only happens before the sun decides to rise for real.
I sat.
Sketchbook open. Pencil ready. But she wasn't there. For a moment, I thought maybe she was just late. Maybe her alarm didn't ring. Maybe the rain last night made her stay in. But the bench stayed empty.
I waited.
Five minutes. Then ten. Sketched the tree instead, just to keep my hands moving. But it didn't feel the same. The wind passed through the leaves like it always did, but today, it sounded more like a sigh.
The next morning, I returned earlier — 6:40. Then 6:30.Just in case.
Still, no one.
Not her silver ring. Not her soft shoes. Not the quiet comfort of knowing someone was sitting beside you in silence. By the third day, I stopped pretending it was just coincidence.
And yet… I kept showing up. Like a ritual without a god. Like praying without knowing what you're asking for.
I sketched her from memory now. Some days I got the shape of her eyes wrong. Some days the hands felt stiffer, less kind.
But I kept drawing anyway. Not to remember her face, but to remember how it felt to see someone simply exist and that was enough.
One page in my sketchbook remains unfinished. Just her outline, and a single leaf falling near her shoulder.
I didn't name that one. Because sometimes, you don't need to name what you miss. You just carry it.