The Wistful Silence
The rain fell in sheets of gray iron. It hammered against the windowpane with a relentless, rhythmic violence that seemed to demand an answer. "Did you hear the bell?" Elias asked. His voice was thin, stripped of its usual baritone depth. He sat in the corner of the café, his hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. The steam had vanished, leaving only a dark, stagnant...
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