Denver pushed through the souk — baskets flashing past his elbows, voices haggling over cumin and copper. He ducked beneath a hanging lantern and slipped sideways into a narrow alley, until the walls closed in and the noise thinned to a murmur behind him.
At the alley's end stood a wall smothered in ivy. Denver pressed his palm flat — then felt it: a loose stone wobbling under his fingers. He pushed. The wall shivered, cracked, and exhaled cool air as a hidden door swung inward.
Inside, the air smelled of rosemary and damp earth. Denver wandered between tangled hedges and climbing jasmine, looking for a bench. A stone stool held a dozing parrot. A mossy ledge swarmed with ants. A woven mat rolled away on its own.
He sighed. Somewhere above him, a silver bell twitched on its frayed string. Denver reached up, gripped the thread, and pulled — just once. The sound was soft, barely louder than a breath.
The air shimmered. Then the sky between the branches filled with white — dozens of butterflies spiraling down like drifting snow. One landed on his boot. Another on his shoulder. He stood perfectly still, afraid to blink.
The butterflies lifted again — not away, but onward. They drifted in a silver thread toward the far corner of the garden, where a stone bench waited beneath an arch of magenta flowers. On the bench sat a book, its cover dark and worn.
Denver opened the book. The pages whispered against each other and settled on a single line, written in ink so familiar it made his throat tight: I belong here. His fingertip traced the letters. The paper was warm — like stone left in the sun.
A shadow crossed the page. Denver looked up. On the low garden wall beyond the bench, a grey tabby cat sat perched, tail curled neatly around its paws, green eyes watching him with calm curiosity.
Denver patted his knee. The cat leaped down and curled into his lap without hesitation. Above them, the sky deepened to amber and rose. Somewhere beyond the garden walls, a call to prayer rose and faded on the evening wind.
The city's roar had softened to a hum, then to nothing at all. Denver rested his chin above the cat's head and smiled. Tomorrow he would come back. And the day after that. And the day after that — forever.
