The man was on his knees, bent over the ground. A sturdy but time-worn mining pick was in his hands, and as she watched, he began to strike at the earth with steady, patient movements. For a time she simply studied him, curious. His actions were relaxed and casual, as if he knew he was beginning a long and weary task. He did not seem to notice her presence.
At length, she moved closer, and knelt down in front of him. Without speaking, she picked up a pickaxe of her own, though how it came to be there, she did not know. She began to work alongside him for a time, and together they dug in silence, until she finally spoke to the man.
"Is something missing?"
He did not respond, or give any sign that he had heard her. She fixed her eyes on him again, waiting, calm and patient.
"Please say "it's you", even if you don't mean it," she said. She had stopped digging. She could do nothing until he gave a response, whether to speak or to ignore her.
Finally, he spoke a solitary word, in a voice so low it was almost inaudible, though his hands never stopped working at the rocky soil beneath him. "You."
She smiled then, and tears began to slide down her cheeks. "I miss you, too," she whispered.
