Jonas’s World

The afternoon light filtered through the leaves of the old linden tree, casting shifting patterns on the cobblestones. Elena had slipped out of the school during the free hour, her heart still fluttering from the note she had found tucked inside her embroidery hoop that morning—a single line in Jonas’s swift hand: *Meet me by the gate at four.*

She had barely been able to concentrate on her stitches. Marta had noticed her distraction and raised an eyebrow but said nothing, too busy recounting the details of the wedding dress she had seen in a shop window. Now, standing at the agreed spot, Elena watched the gate as if it might sprout wings and fly away.

He came from the direction of the Old Town, his steps unhurried, a canvas bag slung over one shoulder. His smile was easy, and when he reached her, he simply said, “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”