There are houses that look quiet, almost forgotten. Houses with creaking balcony doors, flowerpots waiting for a hand to water them, and curtains peering inward through dusty windows. But if you stand outside for a moment and close your eyes, you might hear things you won't find in any book: the groan of an old chair, a raspy laugh, a voice humming a tune long forgotten. These houses have souls - and a soul means stories. What you are about to read is the story of such a house. Or rather... the fight to keep its flame from going out. Our heroine is a girl with untamed hair. Her companion, a dog who spoke with his eyes. And with them, people with wrinkle-labyrinth faces and hearts beating like children's. Because sometimes, the bravest heroes do not carry swords - but a notebook, a smile, or a small flower tucked in their pocket. And every Thursday afternoon, in a quiet corner of the city, the miracle happens again.
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