MuZii0814

For Violet Harrington and Ethan Sinclair, love was never meant to be easy. They met in the most unexpected way, two lost souls drawn to each other in the midst of their own struggles. She was a dreamer, an artist who painted to escape reality; he was a realist, a man carrying burdens too heavy for his young heart.

Their love was soft, fleeting, like the first snowfall of the year, beautiful but destined to melt away. When fate pulls them apart due to circumstances beyond their control, they always thought, "If we are meant to be, we will find each other again."

Years pass. Life moves forward. Violet finds success but never truly forgets the boy who once made her heart race. Ethan, lost in his own battles, wonders if the universe will ever give them another chance.

One day, they meet again, but not in the way they imagined. Violet’s heart still carries the echoes of the past, while Ethan is no longer the boy she remembers. They are different people now, shaped by time and pain. But the moment their eyes meet, the love they buried comes rushing back.

Do they fight against destiny and rewrite their fate? Or is their love meant to remain a beautiful memory, a story that lives on in the spaces between goodbye and forever?

The Road Back to You

Ethan Sinclair wasn't supposed to be here.

He hated the rain. The dampness, the unpredictability of it. Yet, here he was, seated in the back of his sleek black car, watching the city blur past through rain-streaked windows. His driver, accustomed to Ethan's silence, didn't bother making conversation.

This was supposed to be just another evening. Another meeting. Another carefully planned step in his meticulously structured life.

It was nothing, really. Just a glimpse across the street. A woman in a deep brown coat, her red hair slightly damp from the rain, struggling to keep hold of her art supplies.

But for some reason, Ethan's gaze froze.

It was Violet Harrington.

There was something almost chaotic about her. The way she moved, unbothered by the rain, her expression a mix of determination and frustration. She was chasing after something—papers, sketchbooks—the wind had stolen them from her grasp. Pages scattered, some landing in puddles, ink bleeding into the water.

She cursed under her breath, oblivious to the world around her.

Something about it—about her—made the corner of Ethan's mouth lift, just slightly. A ghost of a smile.

His grip on control was too firm, his world too structured for something as fleeting as amusement. But watching this stranger—this whirlwind of movement and emotion—was strangely fascinating.

Ethan Sinclair had always believed in control. It was the foundation of his existence—the one thing that kept the world predictable, structured, manageable.

But in that fleeting moment, standing in the rain, watching her, something fractured in the carefully maintained order of his thoughts.

And without thinking, he had stepped out.

It was instinctive, the way his feet moved before his mind had caught up. The way his fingers brushed against the wet pages, his gaze lingering a second too long. He had simply noticed—noticed the way she chased after the wind, unbothered by the downpour, her world momentarily unraveling in front of her.

The rain clung to his coat, droplets slipping from his dark hair, but he hardly felt it. His focus had been on her—the fire in her eyes, the way she clutched the ruined pages like they were something irreplaceable.

Coincidences? Perhaps. But fate? No.

Yet, as he handed the drenched sketchbook back to her, as his fingers momentarily grazed the frayed edges of paper and ink, he felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest. A recognition he couldn't quite place.

As his eyes flickered over the pages while returning them to her, his gaze met hers. He held it for a brief moment before turning and walking away.

Detached. Untouched. Always moving forward, never lingering.

Even now, as the city swallowed him back into its rhythm, his thoughts betrayed him. His mind should have shifted back to the meeting he was already late for, to the projects waiting on his desk, to the carefully scheduled life he had built.

Instead, his thoughts circled back to her.

The way she had frozen under his gaze.

The way the world had quieted for just a second.

The way, despite everything, he had almost—almost—allowed himself to stay.

By the time he slid back into his car, shaking off the rain, he had already forced his mind to reset, to bury the moment as nothing more than an insignificant encounter.

And yet, as the car pulled away from the curb, he found himself glancing once more at the rain-soaked street through the window.

She was still there, clutching the ruined pages, standing frozen in place.

And for reasons he didn't want to examine, his fingers curled just slightly at his side—phantom traces of charcoal still smudged against his skin.

Chapter 4