Chapter 2 : Lost and Found in Words

After finishing our coffee, the morning air still crisp and laced with the scent of roses, we decided to take a drive. I grabbed my keys from the wooden counter, and we stepped outside, the garden stretching endlessly around us. The car was parked beneath the old willow tree, its dark branches swaying as if bidding us farewell.

As I started the engine, the soft hum blended with the rustling leaves. The road out of my hidden world was narrow, winding through fields kissed by the early light. You rolled down the window, letting the cold breeze tangle in your hair as you watched the world blur past. The silence between us wasn't empty; it was full—of thoughts, of unsaid words, of the lingering warmth of the morning we had shared.

The city came into view slowly, its quiet streets still waking up. The library stood at the heart of it, a grand structure with towering windows and bookshelves that seemed to stretch into infinity. As we stepped inside, the scent of old paper and ink wrapped around us, a different kind of magic from the one in my garden but just as intoxicating.

You walked ahead, trailing your fingers along the spines of countless books, your eyes flickering with the hunger of someone searching for something—maybe a story, maybe an answer. I watched from a distance, letting you lose yourself in the pages, knowing that in some way, I had already written you into mine.

Outside, the morning continued its quiet symphony. But here, between the whispers of turning pages and the soft glow of light filtering through the tall windows, time slowed. It was a different kind of escape, but just like my wooden home, just like my garden of white and blue roses, it felt like ours.