"Let me freshen that for you," she said softly, pouring the amber liquid into his glass.
As she began to wash the glasses, the song faded out, replaced by the upbeat tempo of a local pop track. But the shift in mood didn't matter. The bridge had already been built, and across the room, the man was finally holding the phone to his ear, waiting for the ring that would bridge the distance.
Leyla stopped cleaning the counter. Her hands, damp and smelling of mint tea, rested on the wood. That song always had a way of pulling at the threads of her heart. It spoke of a love that was broken yet still tethered, a whisper across a distance that words could not bridge.
