Scene: Sunday morning. After minyan. The sun filters through the trees as Thomas and Shoshana sit on the porch swing, letting its gentle sway stretch out their last hours together.]

  Thomas (quietly): You know what’s hardest?

  Shoshana (without turning): Being separated.

  Thomas: Yeah. It doesn’t feel fair.

  Shoshana (softly): No… but it feels like it’s necessary. For now.

  They turn toward each other. Without words, they lean in—resting in a slow, quiet kiss. Time thins around them. When they pull back, Thomas takes both her hands in his.

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  Thomas (smiling gently): Just remember—in three weeks, we’ll have nearly two whole weeks together.

  Shoshana: I’m counting the days.

  She pauses, a glint of humor in her eyes.

  Shoshana: You should’ve heard my brother-in-law. He said the odds don’t add up—that maybe we’re… beshert.

  Thomas (grinning): He’s not wrong. The math doesn’t make sense. But I love where we are right now. For the most part.

  Shoshana: We’ll still talk. Wednesdays and Sundays.

  Thomas (nodding): Yeah. And I know we’re supposed to pull back from the organization for now.

  Shoshana: It’s the right call. We’ve stirred enough ripples.

  Thomas (half-laughing): I’m actually curious to hear how Veronica and Jonathan’s date went.

  They lean back into the swing, shoulders touching, the quiet stretching between them like the space between stars—measured, distant, and still part of something whole.