Emotional love stories in various setting
Clara’s fingers trembled as she adjusted the violin’s chin rest, the wood still warm from her grip. The afternoon sun slanted through the bookstore’s dusty windows, casting long shadows over the shelves. She had never liked playing in front of…
The salt air bit into Clara’s cheeks as she stepped off the creaking ferry, her boots crunching over gravel. The dock smelled of brine and diesel, the same as it had fifteen years ago when she’d fled. She hadn’t returned…
The air smelled like pine resin and forgotten promises when she arrived. Clara’s boots crunched over gravel as she stepped off the bus, her duffel bag slung over one shoulder. The town of Blackthorn was smaller than she’d imagined, its…
The air in the bakery smelled like cinnamon and regret. Mira kneaded dough beneath her palms, the flour dusting her wrists as she pressed it into shape. Outside, the sun dipped low over the hills, casting long shadows across the…
The air smelled of pine resin and rain by the time she reached the creek, her boots sinking into the mud as she crouched to dip her hands into the water. The river ran cold, its surface breaking into a…
The air smelled of salt and diesel as Clara stepped off the bus, her boots crunching over gravel. The harbor sprawled before her, a mosaic of fishing boats and weathered docks, their hulls creaking like old bones. She hadn’t been…
The salt-kissed air tasted like memory as Clara stepped off the creaking dock, her boots sinking into the damp sand. The harbor smelled of brine and diesel, a scent that clung to her like a second skin. She hadn’t been…
The salt air tasted like memory when she first saw him. Maren stood at the edge of the dock, her boots sinking into the wet wood as the tide gnawed at the pilings. The lighthouse beam swept across the bay,…
Clara stepped off the creaking ferry, her boots sinking into the damp sand as the salt-laced wind tugged at her coat. The harbor smelled of brine and diesel, a scent that had once felt like home but now clung to…
Mara stood at the edge of the cliff, her boots sinking into the damp sand as the wind tugged at her wool coat. The lighthouse loomed behind her, its skeletal frame silhouetted against the bruised sky. She hadn’t expected company.…
Clara swept the deck of the lighthouse with a practiced motion, her boots scuffing the rusted iron railing. The salt air bit her cheeks, sharp and relentless, as she adjusted the lens of the beacon. It had been six months…
The salt-kissed air clung to Mara’s skin as she stepped off the creaking dock, her boots sinking into the damp gravel of Harbor’s Edge. The town had not changed—same weathered shingles on the cottages, same rusted fishing nets draped over…
The first time Leo saw Clara, she was kneading dough in the dim light of The Crust, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, flour dusting her forearms like snow. The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside, and…
The first time she saw him, the tide was pulling back, revealing a labyrinth of slick gray rocks glistening under the sun. Mara knelt at the edge of the water, her fingers tracing the ridges of a barnacle-encrusted stone, when…
The sun dipped low, casting amber streaks across the garden as Clara knelt to inspect a cluster of lavender. The air hummed with the buzz of bees and the distant strum of a guitar, its notes drifting from the far…