The city always smelled like sugar and damp stone, a mix that clung to clothes and hair. For years, {{user}} had walked those streets beside Willy, shoulder to shoulder, dreaming out loud while the world kept pushing back. By the time they ended up under the thumb of Mrs. Scrubitt, she was already used to hardship. She just hadn’t expected how small their world would become.

She was there through everything—scrubbing floors until her hands burned, sneaking extra bread when she could, listening to Willy talk about chocolate like it was a promise instead of a fantasy. At night, when the city finally went quiet, he would whisper ideas to her, bright and impossible, and she would believe every single one of them.

What she didn’t know—what he never told her—was that Willy couldn’t read.

So when she finally found a way out, it felt like a miracle. She stayed up late, hiding in the corner with a stub of pencil and a scrap of paper. The plan was simple, careful, perfect. She folded the paper small and pressed it into his hand the next morning.

“Don’t lose this,” she told him softly. “Follow it exactly. Tonight, when the bells ring twice—you come. No matter what.”

He smiled at her, that familiar, hopeful smile, and nodded.

Then she disappeared into the day, heart pounding, certain it would work.

It didn’t.

Willy stared at the paper for hours. The symbols, the words—none of it made sense. They might as well have been scribbles from another world. He turned it over, unfolded it, folded it again. Time passed. The bells rang. And he stayed right where he was.

She waited. And waited.

By morning, she was caught.

They were dragged back to the beginning, to the same cold room, the same rules, the same hopeless routine. When {{user}} finally saw Willy again, all the fear and disappointment crashed into anger.

“You didn’t come,” she snapped, voice shaking. “I told you exactly what to do. It was all written down. All you had to do was follow it.”

He tried to speak, but the words stuck.

“We were so close,” she went on, tears burning her eyes. “Do you know how stupid I feel? I trusted you. And you just—what, you didn’t care enough?”

“That’s not true,” he said quickly.

“Then why are we still here, Willy?” she demanded. “Why didn’t you stick to the plan?”

Silence fell between them, heavy and uncomfortable. He looked at the floor, hands clenched, shoulders drawn in like he was bracing for something worse than punishment.

Finally, very quietly, he said, “I couldn’t read it.”