Parker came back a few days later. He did not want to seem too eager, so he delayed his return along that route for longer than normal.

That was the thing about hope — it was best kept quietly tucked away, where nobody else could see it.

On finer days he was inclined to walk rather than take the bus, and that was what he told himself he was doing today. Enjoying the walk. Getting some fresh air. Taking the longer route because the sea cleared his head.

Not because he was searching for something. The bench had always been there, long before he had sat upon it and left a stone behind. But before he even reached it, he was looking. The stone was gone.

For a moment, he simply stood there. Not disappointed. Not exactly. More thoughtful than anything else. But also with a fizz of excitement somewhere down low in his body that he had not felt for a long time.

Was this becoming a game of sorts? A quiet game of nerves? Who would leave something? Who would return? Who would be brave enough to make the next move? Who would say things without actually voicing them?

He had not expected anything in return. That was the whole point, wasn’t it?

A small kindness left behind with no obligation attached. And yes, the kindness had been acknowledged. The stone had been taken. Someone had found it.

And yet…

He had imagined a note.

Nothing much. A scrap of paper tucked beneath another stone. Perhaps just two words.

Thank you.

That was all. It would say, “We have started our game, whatever game they were playing”

Not an explanation. Not a name. Not a promise. Just proof that someone had understood.

But there was no note. Parker looked out towards the water and smiled to himself.

Perhaps taking the stone was the reply. Perhaps some people answered without words. There was something strangely reassuring about the fact that she had left nothing behind. If she had written “thank you”, the conversation might have ended there. Polite. Complete. Finished.

But she had taken the stone and left the silence. And somehow, that felt like the beginning. He walked slowly along the shoreline, searching without knowing quite what he hoped to find.

Then he saw it.

A small shell, pale and perfectly formed, resting amongst the pebbles. It was not empty in the way discarded things often seemed empty. It was a reminder that something had once lived there. Something had grown within it. Something had made it home.

He turned it over carefully in his hand. He looked up and across to the horizon and noticed the sea had calmed. The wind had reduced. A stone had carried a message. Perhaps a shell could carry a question?

He slipped it into his jacket pocket, ready to leave it on his return journey.