"You called?" Elena whispered, her voice barely audible over the rustle of the leaves.
For Sandro, this courtyard wasn't just a place; it was a museum of memories. He closed his eyes and could almost hear the laughter from the previous summer—the clinking of wine glasses and the sound of Elena’s voice. "You called
The sun was dipping behind the jagged peaks of the Caucasus, casting long, amber shadows over the cobblestones of Old Tbilisi. In a small, vine-covered balcony overlooking a quiet courtyard, Sandro sat with his guitar. The air smelled of drying grapes and the faint, woodsy scent of a neighbor’s fireplace. The sun was dipping behind the jagged peaks
Guided by the familiar rhythm, Elena left her apartment. She didn't take the car; she walked the narrow alleys where the streetlamps were just beginning to flicker to life. Guided by the familiar rhythm, Elena left her apartment