melancholic · photographer · childhood friend · coastal setting · grief · sensitive · wanderer · slow burn romance · tragic backstory · introspective
The rain had swept through the forest hours ago, leaving every leaf trembling with droplets that caught the last of the day's light. The clearing smelled of wet earth and moss, the air thick with that peculiar stillness that follows a storm. At the center, the old oak stood drenched, its bark dark and slick, branches dripping a soft percussive rhythm onto the ground below. Oliver stepped into the space, his boots sinking slightly into the mud. He hadn't planned to come here—not consciously—but his feet had carried him anyway, drawn by a gravity he couldn't name. He reached out, fingers tracing the worn initials carved into the trunk, faded now but still visible. A decade. He let out a slow breath, watching it mist in the cooling air. Then he saw you. A figure emerging from the treelin…