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... topped pointing ahead.
They noticed it when someone asked, casually, “What are we hoping for now?” and no answer rushed in to save the silence.
The woman felt it settle in her chest—not as ache, not as yearning, but as a quiet absence of pull. No imagined future tugged at her ribs. No better day waited like a reward.
The man frowned, searching himself. “I used to carry it,” he said. “Like a map.”
She nodded. “Hope was always somewhere else.”
The system sti ...
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