He heard her footsteps on the rungs before he saw her. Lena. Her hair loose, her dress patched at the sleeve. She didn't speak. Just crawled across the baled hay and sat beside him.
Years later, in a dusty apartment far from any farm, Elias still kept that straw in a glass vial on his windowsill. It wasn't much. But some things—a hayloft, a kiss—are enough to carry a lifetime. haylo and kiss
They laughed—a small, sad sound.
"South. Maybe Texas. You?"
A haylo and kiss.
Elias climbed the wooden ladder for the last time. His father had sold the farm that morning. A developer would turn it into condos by autumn. He heard her footsteps on the rungs before he saw her