“Thank you,” she whispered.

When Carlos returned, he found them chatting easily. Ana smiled at him, and he understood that something meaningful had shifted.

That evening, Carmen shared stories from Carlos’s childhood—about the treehouse that collapsed in the garden and the puppy he secretly kept in his room for a week. Carlos protested between laughs, and Ana laughed freely for the first time.

Later, Ana stepped outside. The night sky above the village glittered with stars, clearer than anything she saw in the city. Carlos slipped a jacket over her shoulders.

“So?” he asked softly.

Ana glanced toward the glowing kitchen window where Carmen’s silhouette moved.

“I was wrong,” she admitted. “I let other people’s experiences shape my fear.”

Carlos squeezed her hand. “Sometimes you have to see for yourself.”