The rain stopped sometime before dawn. When Kenji unlocked the front door, the air outside was cold but clear, the kind of still air that made sound carry far. He lit the small lantern by the window, checked the counter, and made sure the pot had kept its quiet simmer through the night.

From the back booth came a soft sound of movement. Logan stirred under the gray jacket, blinking as if he didn’t believe where he was. He sat up slowly, his hair sticking out in every direction. For a second he looked around the shop like a dream was trying to finish before waking.

Kenji poured two cups of tea. Morning, he said.
Logan rubbed his eyes. I didn’t steal anything, he said, voice hoarse.
Good start, Kenji said.

The boy laughed weakly, stretching his arms. You got coffee?
Tea only, Kenji said. Coffee makes noise inside the head.
You talk like fortune cookies again, Logan said. But I’ll take it.

He drank the tea slow, both hands on the cup. The warmth went through him. He looked out the window. It’s weird seeing morning from inside somewhere safe, he said.

Kenji nodded. Safety tastes strange when you forget it.

Logan’s smile was small but real. You should put that on a sign.

They sat quiet for a while. The sky outside went pale blue. A truck rolled by. Somewhere a dog barked. The city yawned.

When Kenji brought him a bowl, Logan blinked. I didn’t pay last night, he said.
You paid by sleeping, Kenji said.
That doesn’t seem fair.
It is fair enough.

The boy started eating, slow this time. The broth was mild in the morning light, soft and forgiving. Between bites he said, You know what’s weird? I thought I’d wake up feeling guilty for staying here, but I don’t. I just feel like… maybe the world didn’t give up on me yet.

Kenji didn’t answer. He was wiping the counter, but his eyes stayed on the pot. Maybe the world didn’t. Or maybe it did, and you didn’t give up on yourself.

Logan looked at him. You think there’s a difference?
Sometimes no, Kenji said. Sometimes yes. Depends on the day.

Logan finished half the bowl, then leaned back and sighed. You ever feel like you want to start over but you don’t even know what that means?
Every day, Kenji said. Starting over is not a big thing. It is many small things. One bite. One step. One night you do not give up.

The boy nodded slowly. You ever think you talk in spells?
Kenji smiled. Only when people need to remember them later.

They both laughed.

After a while Logan stood. He folded the jacket neatly and laid it on the table. I should go before you change your mind about letting strays stay.
You are not stray anymore, Kenji said.
Then what am I?
Tired human. Still moving. Same as everyone.

Logan rubbed at his wrist where a faint bruise showed. You’re gonna make me soft, old man.
Soft is not weak, Kenji said. Soft bends. Hard breaks.

The boy looked down, nodding. Then he reached into his pocket and took out a small coin. It was dull and scratched. Found this by the tracks last night before I came here, he said. It’s not worth anything. But maybe it belongs here.

Kenji took it, turned it between his fingers. It was an old state token from a car wash, faded words reading One Clean Ride. He smiled. It belongs, he said. The broth always takes what the road leaves.

Logan grinned. You’re something else.

He slung the guitar across his back and stood near the door. The light outside was brighter now, spilling across the wet street. He hesitated. You think I’ll make it?

Kenji looked up from the counter. Yes. But not because you believe it yet. Because you are already moving.

Logan nodded, his throat tight. I’ll come back. Maybe next week.
Maybe sooner, Kenji said. Roads circle.

The boy opened the door. The bell rang soft. Cold air came in, clean and sharp. He stepped out into it, looked back once, smiled, and then walked away down the street, the guitar bumping gently against his back.

Kenji watched until the shape grew small, then turned to the counter again. He placed the coin near Miles’s brass one. Two travelers, side by side. He poured more broth into the pot, let the steam roll up, and breathed it in.

He thought of Miles on the highway. Emily in her hospital. Logan somewhere between towns. All of them walking their own crooked roads. All of them still breathing. He wondered if they ever knew that when they sat here, they had left something behind that kept living in the air.

He wiped the counter, folded the jacket, and whispered to the photo of his wife, You would have liked them.

The broth simmered. The shop filled with that gentle warmth again, the kind that never rushed. Kenji sat for a moment, hands around a cup of tea, watching the window fog slowly over until the whole world outside became soft and shapeless.

He thought of a sentence he had heard once, long ago, in another kitchen. You cannot fix people, but you can feed them until they remember they are still alive.

He said it out loud, just to hear it again. The steam carried it up.

Then the bell over the door rang. Another stranger stepped in, shaking off the rain, eyes tired, hands cold.

Kenji stood, wiped his hands, and said, Welcome.

The stranger nodded and sat. The night had started again, as it always did, one bowl at a time.