Chapter 30: The Place We Call Home

The sun had begun to set, painting the sky in hues of gold and violet, casting long shadows across the garden.

You walked ahead of me, barefoot, the wooden path warm beneath your feet. I followed, watching the way you moved light, effortless, as if this place had always belonged to you.

We reached the small wooden house, the one that had become ours in a way neither of us had ever said out loud. The library inside held stories we had read together, pages worn from the weight of our hands. The walls held whispers of late-night conversations, of laughter that still lingered in the air.

You stopped in the doorway, turning to face me. "Do you think places remember the people who love them?"

I stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "This one does."

Your lips parted slightly, something unspoken in your eyes. "How do you know?"

I glanced past you, at the home that had held so much of us, at the garden that had watched our love unfold. "Because it still feels like home when I'm with you."

You exhaled softly, something between a sigh and a quiet laugh, and then without hesitation you pulled me inside.

The door closed behind us, the last light of the sun spilling through the windows. And in that space, in that home, I knew no matter where life took us, no matter what changed this was where we belonged.

Together.