It was an ordinary walk, nothing special, when Daisy suddenly dashed forward and happily ran up to two girls he happened to pass by on the riverside path. One of them – small, with black hair the wind rearranged however it pleased – crouched down and held out her hand. Dotty, as if pre-programmed, decided immediately: this is my human. He just laughed and asked: ‘I need someone to keep her company for a week. Would you try?’ Back then he didn’t know that this single question would set off an entire chain of events. She agreed. First for one week. Then for another. While he was away, she looked after the dog and the house. She did it with such care it felt as if she’d taken responsibility not only for the animal, but for its owner too. And he – exhausted, raw after a difficult breakup, after quiet nights in an empty house – didn’t even realise how much he needed that. One day, when he returned from the airport, dinner was waiting on the table – three hours of her work and concentration. Just so he would eat. Just so life would feel a little lighter. ‘Why are you doing this?’ he finally asked. She shrugged gently. ‘In China we say that when someone is going through a hard time, you don’t have to fix them. You only need to make sure they’re not alone.’ That sentence stayed with him for a long time. When he invited her on their first day out together, he didn’t need to wait long for the answer. ‘Holy Island?’ she repeated. ‘Sounds like a legend. Let’s go.’ So they went. On the island the wind blew so fiercely that even the gulls looked like they regretted all their life choices. And yet she walked beside him, laughing as she tried to tame her hair, her hood, and her own balance. ‘You really don’t get cold?’ she asked when he unzipped his jacket yet again. ‘No. I’m fat,’ he replied with theatrical seriousness. She giggled so loudly the echo bounced off the abbey walls. In the storm she leaned into him because it was ‘only a little cold’. And when the wind grew stronger, her hands began searching for his. At first uncertain. Then — as if they had always belonged there. They walked through wet grass, wet stones, wet everything… And somehow it looked as though the world had decided to draw them a private map: walk this way together. By the old walls they sat down close. Her head rested on his shoulder. His hand – now without hesitation – found her fingers. ‘You know,’ she whispered, ‘I’ve been thinking about us. About… how good it feels to walk with you.’ He just listened. He didn’t try to answer. He didn’t try to force a happy ending. It was enough that she was there.