The years that followed weren't perfect. There were days when Elias couldn't leave the house, and days when Clara’s own bright spirit flickered under the weight of her own struggles. But the phrase became their anchor. When the hospital bills came, when the bookstore closed, when the world felt like it was spinning too fast—they would find each other’s eyes and say it.
"I don't know why you're here, Clara," he whispered, staring at his hands. "I’m a sinking ship. Eventually, I’m just going to pull you down with me." Im With You
Decades later, Elias stood in the same park where they had met. The bench was new now, made of polished wood instead of rusted iron. He was older, his hair a shock of white, but he still preferred the rain. The years that followed weren't perfect
"Then I’ll learn to breathe underwater," she said softly. "I'm not here because I think you're a project to be fixed, Elias. I’m here because I like the view from your ship, even when it’s taking on water." When the hospital bills came, when the bookstore
Elias sat on the edge of a rusted park bench, his collar turned up against the chill. He wasn’t waiting for a bus or a person—he was waiting for the feeling of being untethered to finally pull him under. At twenty-four, he felt like a ghost in his own life, moving through a sequence of shifts at a quiet bookstore and long walks through a city that seemed to have forgotten him. "It’s a bit damp for a sit-down, isn’t it?"
"Well, Elias, you look like you’re searching for something that isn't on this bench."
