Astra_K

The Echo Between Us
A Novel by Astra K.

Lana Vienne never believed in fate-until the night she left a note between the pages of a forgotten book, never expecting anyone to find it. It was nothing more than a quiet confession, a whisper of longing pressed onto paper, meant to disappear into the endless hum of the city.

But when she walks into Café Amour weeks later, she sees him-Oryn Moreau, the man the world knows as Ryn, a famed yet elusive writer-reading her words.

She doesn't know him, but he knows her words.

And somehow, it feels like he's been waiting for them all along.

Set in the dreamy city of Aurivelle, where love lingers in quiet corners and fate writes between the lines, The Echo Between Us is a story of serendipitous moments, unspoken emotions, and the delicate line between fiction and reality.

The Echo Between Us

Oryn returned to Café Amour at dusk, when the world outside was painted in deep shades of violet and amber. The rain had stopped just hours ago, leaving behind the kind of crisp evening air that made everything feel sharper, more real.

And yet, as he stepped inside, he felt anything but steady.

It had been a week since he last came here. A week of wondering, of second-guessing, of telling himself that this was nothing but a passing curiosity.

But now, standing before the bookshelf, pulling the familiar book from its place, he realized something.

His fingers tightened around the edges of the pages as he flipped through, breath catching slightly when he found the note.

There, beneath his words, was her reply.

The words felt different now that he was reading them again, as if they had been waiting for him, pressing against the silence, daring him to take another step forward.

A door was opening, and she was standing on the other side, waiting.

The pen in his hand felt heavier than it should have as he pressed it to the page.

The moment the ink dried, he closed the book and slid it back into place.

For the first time in a long time, he found himself hoping.

Lana hadn't planned to return so soon.

At least, that was what she told herself.

But something about the last note had lingered in her thoughts, slipping into the quiet moments of her day like a melody she couldn't forget.

The question had settled deep inside her, curling around something fragile and unspoken.

And so, despite every rational voice telling her that this was ridiculous, that she was getting too invested in something that barely made sense she found herself back at the café two days later, fingers trembling just slightly as she reached for the book.

Her pulse drummed softly in her ears as she flipped through the pages.

She had been prepared for another reply, but not this. Not something so direct.

It would turn this from an anonymous, dreamy conversation into something real, something tangible.

She hesitated, pen hovering over the paper, as she asked herself the question she hadn't dared to before.

Or was it better this way—hidden between pages, safe in the spaces where neither of them could be seen?

She thought of the words he had written before, the way they had found her at just the right moment.

She thought of how, despite never having met him, he felt like someone who understood.

And then, before she could talk herself out of it, she pressed the ink to the page.

A whisper of herself, left behind in the spaces between knowing and not knowing.

She exhaled softly, watching as the ink settled, final and unchangeable.

Then, carefully, she closed the book, slipped it back onto the shelf, and walked away.

And somewhere in the quiet corners of Aurivelle, a stranger would soon know that she was waiting for an answer.

A Name Without a Face