Phrazle

Every day, they’d sit at the same table, two coffees, one phone. Sometimes they’d solve the phrase in minutes; other days, it took the better part of an hour.

But it wasn’t about the puzzle anymore—it was about the moments between the guesses.

He’d tell stories again in Phrazle. About his first job. About the car he rebuilt from scratch. About the time he almost missed his own wedding because of a flat tire.

Sometimes, she’d catch him smiling at the screen long after the puzzle was done.

“What’s so funny?” she’d ask.

“Just thinking,” he’d say. “Your mother used to say this one all the time.”