Jia_Syzelle

In the 1920s, Mary, the quiet daughter of the town mayor, lives by strict rules—until she meets Isabelle Hart, a bold and flirty jazz singer. Drawn to Isabelle’s fire, Mary begins to question everything she’s ever known. But in a time where their love is forbidden, their greatest enemy becomes everyone—family, friends, and society itself.

Will they accept themselves and how will they fight the society?

Will there always remain forbidden?

Forbidden Dream 1920

The night unfolded like a soft-spoken symphony.

Just breath, touch, and the hush of unspoken promises.

Isabelle moved with careful reverence, as if afraid that if she blinked too hard, Mary might vanish again. Her fingers laced with Mary's, lips pressing over the gentle slope of her shoulder, her collarbone, the curve of her neck—worship, not desire.

Mary held onto her like she was holding onto the one truth she could finally believe in.

Each kiss, each sigh, each slow heartbeat echoed with all the things they'd never been allowed to say out loud.

And in that quiet room, beneath the warm quilt and the dim kiss of moonlight, their shadows became one.

Only a tender kind of ache—a joy too soft for words.

The golden rays of dawn crept silently through the lace curtain, casting dappled patterns on the wall. The room was still, holding onto the hush of what had passed within it.

She blinked against the light, her breath calm, her body warm and tucked close to Isabelle's.

Isabelle's arm lay draped over her waist, her face turned toward Mary's, lashes resting gently against her cheek, lips parted slightly in sleep.

At the woman who had haunted her dreams. At the soul she had been taught to fear loving. At the one who had held her without flinching when the rest of the world turned its back.

She reached up and gently brushed a strand of hair from Isabelle's forehead.

"I wish I could wake up beside you every day," she whispered.

Isabelle murmured softly, still half-asleep. "Then don't stop dreaming."

They stayed like that for a while—wrapped in the warmth of the moment, no walls between them, no past heavy enough to break what was real in that quiet hour.

But outside the room, beyond the door, the world still waited.

THE UNSPOKEN WORDS