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

A gentle breeze drifted in through the window, carrying the scent of London's waking streets. Inside, the air remained still—warm from the comfort of tangled sheets and unspoken promises.

Mary shifted slightly beneath the blanket, brushing her lips over Isabelle's shoulder before slipping out of bed. Her bare feet touched the cool floor as she reached for her robe, tying it around her waist with practiced grace.

"I think I need a bath," she murmured, stretching slightly as the sunlight kissed her skin.

Isabelle, half-awake and grinning, turned her head on the pillow. "A bath?" she echoed, voice husky from sleep. "That sounds… tempting."

Mary arched a brow with a sleepy smile. "Tempting for me, yes."

Isabelle propped herself up on one elbow. "Tempting for us, you mean."

Mary paused near the doorway, looking back with wide, amused eyes. "Isabelle…"

"What?" Isabelle teased, rising to sit cross-legged on the bed, the sheet wrapped loosely around her. "We've already shared the most sacred parts of the night, haven't we? Why not share warm water and soap too?"

Mary turned away, flustered, cheeks blooming with color. "You're impossible."

"Guilty," Isabelle replied with a lazy grin, standing and stepping toward her. "But irresistibly so, yes?"

Mary tried to compose herself. "It's not proper. It's—"

"We stopped living for 'proper' last night, Mary," Isabelle said gently, brushing her fingertips across Mary's wrist. "But… if it makes you uncomfortable, I won't press."

Mary looked down. Her heart beat louder than it should have for something so simple.

She thought of her world—of porcelain manners and folded napkins, of whispered rules and silent sacrifices.

But then she looked up into Isabelle's eyes.

And she smiled—shy, but certain.

"…Fine," she whispered, "but only if you behave."

Isabelle leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Never."

Steam curled around the room like silk ribbons, softening the edges of the tiles and fogging the mirror. The claw-foot bathtub was filled with rose-scented bubbles, warm enough to soothe more than just skin.

Mary sat with her back against the tub's edge, arms resting atop the porcelain rim, her hair tied loosely to keep it dry. Isabelle sank slowly into the water opposite her, sighing in relief.

Their knees brushed gently beneath the surface.

Isabelle gazed at her, eyes softening.

"You know," she said, "I never thought I'd have this. Not with you. Not with anyone."

Mary reached for her hand under the water, lacing their fingers. "Then let's not waste a second of it."

And for a little while longer, they didn't speak.

They just bathed in the quiet beauty of the moment—two souls in the warmth of something they'd been told they could never have.

STEAM AND STOLEN SMILES