On a cold evening in mid-December, Anna walked to the old pier with a paper lantern in her hands. The town behind her was quiet; shop windows were dark, and a thin wind moved the loose posters on the walls. She had come to the water to keep a promise she made years ago.

A small boat rocked gently near the pier, its paint chipped and the name faded. Anna remembered the day she and Tom found it by the river — the day they decided to learn how to fix things together. They had been young then, full of plans and certain that time would always be kind.

Time had changed many things. Tom was gone now. Not gone like a place you leave behind, but gone like a light that had been switched off. Anna had kept one of their promises: every year on this date she would bring a light to the pier, and set it afloat in the current.

She knelt and set the lantern on the wooden plank. The paper trembled in the wind, and for a moment Anna saw the soft face of the boy she used to know — the way he smiled when a problem finally made sense, the way he laughed at small failures. She whispered, “For you,” and let the lantern go.

The lantern drifted slowly away. Its warm circle of light caught on a wave and then on another, moving farther from the pier. Anna watched until the flame was little more than a star against the dark water. The sound of the sea felt like a gentle answering.

When she turned to leave, a young man stood at the end of the pier, holding a small toolbox. He had the same careful look Tom used to have when he tried to fix a broken thing. He smiled and said, “Excuse me — do you know how I can stop my lantern from tilting?” Anna laughed softly, and for a moment the years folded like paper.