Yannis closed his eyes. Suddenly, he wasn't in a cramped apartment in Athens anymore. He was back in the village, twenty years younger, standing under a canopy of grapevines. He could almost smell her perfume—something like jasmine and sea salt. Her name was Elena, a name he hadn't spoken out loud in a decade, fearing that the mere sound of it would shatter the fragile peace he had built.
The song shifted, the bouzouki reaching a high, wailing note that felt like a needle to the chest. Yannis felt his eyes grow hot. He wasn't a man who cried often, but Gonidis had a way of finding the cracks in a person’s armor. gonidis_kai_me_pianoyn_ta_klamata_k_mia_aghapi_...
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a weathered, folded photograph. It was blurry, taken at a summer festival. Elena was looking away from the camera, her hair caught in the wind. She looked like she was already leaving. Yannis closed his eyes