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Two decades. Twenty years had painstakingly etched themselves into the fabric of my life since that tempestuous night, since the desperate stranger arrived at my door. The world had shifted on its axis countless times, technologies had revolutionized communication, political landscapes had been redrawn, and I, too, had changed, weathered by the march of time and experience. The memory of James, and his solemn vow, was now a distant, almost dreamlike recollection, a ghost of a story told to myself in moments of quiet reflection, rarely spoken aloud. I had long since concluded that the kindness I offered was its own reward, a self-contained act with no expectation of reciprocity. The thought of James, if it surfaced at all, was usually accompanied by a wistful wonder about where life had taken him, hoping he had found peace and prosperity. Then, one ordinary afternoon, when the sun was shining and the day held no hint of the extraordinary, there came another knock. But this wasn’t the hesitant, almost apologetic tap of someone on the brink of collapse. This knock was different. It was confident, calm, and deliberate, resonating with a certainty that pulled me from my mundane tasks. My heart gave an inexplicable jolt, a faint tremor of recognition even before I reached the door. As I opened it, the afternoon sun seemed to halo a tall, impeccably dressed man who stood on my doorstep. His posture was composed, his gaze direct, and a neatly trimmed silver beard framed a face that, despite the passage of time and the obvious signs of a life well-lived, held an unsettling familiarity. And then he smiled, and in that instant, a cold shiver, a thrilling premonition, ran down my spine. Could it be? After all this time? Was this impossible reunion truly unfolding before my very eyes, bringing with it a tide of unanswered questions and forgotten promises?
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