I stopped. He stopped two steps ahead, then turned. The sun behind him made his edges soft, like a photograph developing in reverse.
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We met at the edge of the old park, where the pavement cracks into roots and moss. He wore the same jacket as always — gray, unzipped, sleeves pushed up despite the cold. I wore my fixed gaze forward. That was the deal: walk, don’t talk. At least not at first. I stopped
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