Ella_GI

She left to chase dreams. He stayed to build them. But when fate pulls them back together, neither is ready for the sparks that reignite everything they thought they’d buried.

When Amara Rivers returns to the quiet coastal town of Corra’s Hollow after nearly a decade in the city, it’s supposed to be temporary. A quick visit. A small renovation project. A break from her overworked life as an architect. But nothing feels temporary when you’re facing the ghosts of who you used to be—and the one person who never left your heart.

Darian Cole is as stubborn as the salt air and twice as unshakable. A local builder with rough hands, quiet eyes, and a past he keeps buried under lumber and silence, Darian never expected to see Amara again. He certainly didn’t expect to work beside her.

The house they’re restoring holds more than rotting wood and broken windows—it’s filled with old secrets, long-lost letters, and the memories of a love that never quite faded.

But time changes people. And as tensions rise between them, so do the sparks.

Can Amara truly come home again? And can Darian forgive the girl who left—especially when she’s no longer just a girl, and he’s no longer the boy who waited?

The Way Back "sometimes home is a person "

The meeting had ended, but the words hadn't.

Mira walked briskly alongside Zuri down the narrow steps of the community hall, her jaw clenched tighter than she'd like to admit.

"I mean, the audacity," she muttered. "He could've just disagreed—respectfully. Not... dismissed me like I had no right to speak."

Zuri glanced sideways, suppressing a smirk. "You did sort of interrupt him mid-sentence."

"Yeah, well, his sentence was pompous."

"He said the town needed practicality over big-city flair."

Mira narrowed her eyes. "He said it like the town was a charity case and I was handing out shiny brochures."

Zuri chuckled. "You're mad 'cause he rattled you."

They passed the flower shop, now closed for the evening, the scent of crushed petals still lingering in the air. The sky had turned a muted orange, clouds stretched like brush strokes across the horizon.

Zuri kicked a pebble. "He's not used to being challenged. Most people around here either agree with him or stay out of his way."

"Well, I'm not most people," Mira said flatly.

"I know." Zuri gave a proud little grin. "That's why I love you."

Back in her room, Mira tossed her sketchbook on the desk and stood by the window, arms folded. Her reflection stared back—flushed cheeks, furrowed brows.

She hated how easily his voice had found its way into her head.

"You show up from the city and think you know what's good for the town…"

He didn't know her. Didn't know why she left. Or what it cost her to come back.

She turned from the window and opened her sketchbook—not out of inspiration, but defiance. Her pencil moved with more force than usual, sketching rough outlines of buildings, public spaces, market stalls. Functional, familiar. She wasn't here to "glamorize" anything. She was here to restore something. In herself. In this town.

Darian sat on the workshop steps, elbows on his knees, a cold bottle of water in one hand. His friend, Elijah, leaned against the doorframe behind him.

"You were rough on her," Elijah said casually.

"She was pitching fairy dust," he muttered.

"She was pitching hope, man."

Darian took a long sip, eyes fixed on the gravel. "I've seen what 'hope' with no follow-through looks like. That town's had enough of it."

Elijah sighed. "She's not her father, Darian. And she's not from some random firm in the city. She's Mira. You knew her."

"Knew," Darian echoed, voice flat. "People change."

Elijah tilted his head. "Maybe. Or maybe you're just scared she hasn't."

Mira stepped outside, shielding her eyes from the early sun. Her mom was watering the front steps.

"Zuri called," her mother said with a sly smile. "Said something about a public roasting?"

Mira groaned. "It wasn't a roast."

"Apparently, the carpenter's son is... intense?"

Mira paused, then laughed under her breath. "Intense. That's one word for it."

Her mother gave her a knowing look. "Your father always said a good challenge shows you what you're made of."

Mira didn't reply. But as she walked toward the market street, one thing was clear: she wasn't backing down.

Aftershocks