He arrived Saturday at ten with things.
The things were: pastries from three different places, a small plant that he had decided the apartment needed and had not asked anyone about, a book he'd been reading that he thought Nara should read, and — she noticed it last, because he was holding it carefully behind the other things — a photograph in a frame.
He set everything on the kitchen counter.
The plant on the left. The pastries in the middle. The book beside them.
The photograph he held.
She looked at him.
He looked at the photograph.
"I found it," he said. "Last week. In my things." He turned it to show her. "Do you remember this?"
She did.
The three of them — Nara, Sera, Otto — on a city bench. Before everything. She had been twenty-two. Otto had been seventeen. Sera twenty-fiv
