Over the next couple of weeks, the bond between the retired archivist and the stray parrot deepened into a cherished companionship. Arthur found himself waking up with a light heart, looking forward to their afternoon visits, and buying extra tropical fruit at the village market. "He likes the ripe papayas best," Arthur explained to the local fruit vendor, who smiled warmly at the old man's newfound enthusiasm.
The parrot seemed equally attached, often staying for hours to preen its feathers while Arthur read his novels aloud. Red would occasionally mimic sounds, soft whistles, and the faint chime of a doorbell, though he never spoke clear words. "You bring a lot of life to this old house, Red," Arthur said one evening as the sun turned the sky into a canvas of pink and gold, the bird snoozing comfortably on his knee.
Yet, beneath the joy of their routine, a subtle thread of mystery pulled at Arthur's mind. Somewhere in the vast valley or perhaps beyond the mountains, someone had spent hours teaching this bird how to play, trust, and love. Arthur couldn't shake the feeling that he was merely borrowing a piece of someone else's heart every afternoon at three o'clock.