The train hisses to a stop. Nicholas steps onto wet pavement. Cold wind bites his cheeks. He clutches the folded map close. Above, grey clouds hang low over Prague.
Nicholas steps into the shelter. Children huddle under thin blankets. A little girl offers him a crumb of bread. 'Thank you, sir,' she whispers. Her eyes are wide and afraid.
The baker stops kneading dough. His hands pause mid-squeeze. He slides a warm roll toward Nicholas without a word. Steam rises from the fresh bread. The boy’s breath catches.
In the café, Nicholas counts names on napkins. Steam curls from his teacup. A waiter drops a tray—clatter! Papers scatter. Nicholas bends, gathering them all before anyone turns to look.
That evening, Nicholas slips the list into the hollowed-out book. He presses the cover shut. Outside, footsteps echo near the door. He tucks the book beneath his coat.
The book falls from his pocket. It tumbles open. Not pages—but hundreds of tiny paper airplanes! They flutter down like startled birds, swirling around him in the sudden silence.
Years later, London sun filters through trees. Nicholas sits in a garden, reading a letter. One corner holds a pressed violet flower. He smiles slowly, turning the page.
He hears a train whistle far away, then fades into silence. The breeze rustles the trees. Somewhere, a child’s laughter floats from the park. Nicholas closes the book and lets go.