After a decade away, Elise returns to her childhood village of Saint Amour following her grandmother’s passing. There, she reunites with Julien, her first love, who stayed behind to care for his family’s lavender farm. As they spend time together in the quiet countryside reconnecting through memories, shared work, and old emotions the spark between them reignites. Though Elise’s return was meant to be temporary, the deep bond they rediscover forces her to question her fast paced city life. Ultimately, after months apart, Elise returns to the village and to Julien choosing love, simplicity, and the sweet moments that last.

𝐸𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦 ^_^

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𝑌𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟...𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑜𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛...𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑦 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤

•

When your emotions overwhelm your thoughts and your thoughts cloud your mind...

When time loses meaning as you drown in it...

In the middle of the night, when you're the only one awake...

You're caught up in it all.

This is especially true after making a major change in your life, when the adrenaline is still rushing, sending spasms of butterflies through your stomach and keeping you from sleeping or thinking clearly.

And still, you continue to drown in your thoughts.

Well, that was exactly Eileen's state of mind.

Ever since she returned home that day, and every night after Arthur dropped her off.

Arthur was like a radiant sun that always gave off warmth. Being around him made life feel good and made the world feel right.

He talked a lot, yes, but lately, silence had become their shared language.

Eileen didn’t know whether it was his way of respecting her quiet nature (she ruled this out because he always used to talk a lot) or if something was preoccupying this 'big kid'.

—

Days passed.

Arthur disappeared again.

But this time, he messaged her on Instagram.

This was a change for Eileen.

She only opened the app to see their conversation; there were no other chats.

There were no other messages and no other apps she cared about.

Their chats were always just a few messages late at night.

As if he was saying: 'Hey... I'm alive.'

They never called. Just brief texts.

And now… a full week without the sunshine boy.

It was late at night, and Eileen was lying wide awake, staring at the ceiling.

Her body felt heavy, but she couldn’t sleep.

Then, a sound from the street caught her attention.

It was unusual in such a nearly-abandoned neighbourhood.

An inexplicable urge told her to look outside.

So, with sluggish, heavy steps, she went to the window and scanned the street.

Her senses instantly sharpened when she saw someone standing at the door of her annoying—but somehow endearing—neighbour.

She tensed until she saw his messy blonde hair.

Throwing on her coat, she stepped outside.

She took tiny steps, her hands buried deep in her pockets, her body curling up every time a cold breeze touched her.

She finally stood before the boy who was now sitting on the kerb, seemingly having given up.

“What are you doing out here at this hour?”

she asked quietly, her voice soft with the cold.

He looked up quickly and smiled his usual smile.

'Hello, Moon Girl. I forgot my house key and now I can’t get in.'

He rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

‘You reckless child… what are you going to do? Freeze here?”

Eileen ignored the nickname and scolded him gently.

Arthur lowered his head in shame, and a calm silence fell between them.

“Do you have somewhere else to go?”

she asked. He replied,

'No, but I'm waiting for a friend to bring me the key.'

“Then come in and wait inside.”

She pointed to her house.

Arthur blinked in surprise.

But then he smiled and nodded gratefully — he was freezing, after all.

—

Shock.... Embarrassment....

That’s what they were both feeling.

Eileen deeply regretted not cleaning the place — it was a complete mess.

Arthur, on the other hand, was surprised for a moment.

—but then he found her blushing face strangely adorable.

Trying to lighten the mood, he said:

‘Don’t worry, Lily. My place looks like this during exam season too. I literally beg my friends to help me clean.”

She gave him an embarrassed look, then nodded awkwardly.

Though it wasn’t exam season for her —

— she just didn’t care about cleaning.

No one ever visited her. She only used the room and bathroom in the morning to shower.

“Let me help,” he said.

'It'll be easier if we both do it.'

She couldn’t say no.

She hated cleaning and couldn't sleep anyway.

So, silently, they began cleaning the floors, taking out the rubbish and dusting.

Arthur noticed broken glass and dark stains on the carpet.

He assumed that Eileen might have been hurt.

He felt awful. No one here cared for her.

She even looked unwell.

He wanted to go over to her, but was afraid he might scare her.

He reminisced about their time together, which was now rarer than ever.

He’d been busier... and more anxious. Why?

Was he hiding secrets, too?

No one knew.

Except Arthur.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash.

The broom had slipped from his hand..

He picked it up and returned to sweeping the hallway.

Until a door caught his attention:

A white door. Closed. Unlike the rest, which were mostly worn out and unlocked.

The house had two floors.

Downstairs there was a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom and a tiny room.

Upstairs there were five rooms and one bathroom, as well as an attic.

Arthur was upstairs.

The first door was Eileen’s, full of her things. She cleaned that room herself.

He took care of the others, which were mostly empty.

Until he reached that room.

It felt... different.

Something about it called to him. It invited him in.

He didn’t know why or what made it special.

But his curiosity got the better of him.

Slowly and quietly, he reached for the handle.

But before he could turn it—

“Arthur! What are you doing? Don't open that!'

He turned around.

Eileen was standing behind him, looking angry, flustered and scared.

Her voice trembled. Her hands shook.

She had shouted.

'I—sorry... I just...'

"I told you to clean the hallway and two rooms! Why are you here? What are you doing?”

" I was just curious... about what's in that room..... Why is the door different? It's locked—"

“Arthur! You don't need to stick your nose into everything just because you're curious!"

Her voice cracked.

'Closed doors are closed for a reason.

You don’t need to know that reason!”

She sounded genuinely upset.

'I’m really sorry. I won’t go near it again.”

Eileen just sighed deeply and looked at him in confusion.

She nodded softly.

They both went back to cleaning..

But the atmosphere was heavy now....

It was so tense that it made them uncomfortable...

Arthur had noticed Eileen’s social anxiety.

She avoided people. She never spoke to anyone.

She shut herself off from the world.

She locked her heart away, just like her house.

She built walls to keep others out.

He knew there was a reason for it.

He knew she was hiding many secrets behind that cold exterior.

And he also knew...

He couldn’t just tear down those walls.

He couldn’t just barge in.

With someone like Eileen, you have to knock gently.

You wait.

She’ll open them when she trusts you.

.

She's like a little child who loves roses... Whenever he tries to pick one, he gets pricked by a thorn... and turns away in fear of getting hurt...

He had made a big mistake.

She hadn’t warned him directly about the room....

But she had told him to clean only two rooms and the hallway.

He didn’t know that getting too close was forbidden.

Now, he hated his own curiosity....He might have destroyed what they had built.....

did Eileen now felt uncomfortable around him again.?

But what was in that room?

Why was she so afraid of anyone going in?

And why did Arthur keep disappearing, only to return and then vanish again?

There are so many secrets surrounding them both.

Would they be able to overcome them and finally understand each other?

.

.

.

End of Chapter

Thank you for reading ♡

A like & comment will help me write the next part faster!

♡ With love ♡

In the golden-hued city of Elowen, Emma feels a quiet shift during her favorite season autumn. Though her life is usually marked by peaceful routines and soft reflection, everything changes when she meets Luca a gentle thoughtful man with a wounded past. Their connection begins over a shared love of poetry and unfolds into a tender unhurried romanc

Here's some extra information to make things make sense here :)

The titles of the chapters will be formatted something like: (fishguy1).(fishguy2).(number)

Essentially, each title tells you which tank the oneshot takes place in. For example, a title like: fish.shark.two would tell you that the chapter is the second oneshot featuring the characters 'Fish' and 'Shark'.

The reason the names are like this is because I write these in another app and upload them here.

Each chapter will also have the following before the actual writing:

Character/s:

Setting:

Scenario:

Warnings:

This will hopefully give you context for the writing and help you decide if you're interested in reading! If I miss anything like a character, a warning, or the setting being wrong, please let me know.

ALSO I use 'drabble' and 'oneshot' VERY liberally. A lot of what I plan on writing is somewhere in between the two, but those words sound nicer in the tags. Not that some works won't be actual drabbles, though, I might challenge myself from time to time.

The '**' is because in my notes, that makes those words italicized. I try to go in and fix those, but it really depends.

There’s a house that stands with effortless beauty and at the edge of crumbling — its windows glazed in golden light, its doors always slightly open, offering, pleading.

She wandered there one dusk — a will that felt forced.

The ground had thinned beneath her feet for years. Praise, silence, envy, hunger. The world around her didn’t see, so she stepped inside.

Inside, it was always almost everything.

The walls bent themselves to her desires. Her reflection smiled back just the right amount. Her voice came out cleaner, softer, more listenable. Every mirror was kind. Every meal disappeared without judgment. Every version of her was better than the last.

It felt like an endless dream.

But at some point we desire to wake up.

She tried to leave once. Tried to remember her mother’s laugh, her real laugh — not the tight one she used when she didn’t really understand. She tried to remember herself without the walls.

But the house wouldn’t let her.

She was given a room with fake windows and no clocks. Time didn’t pass, but somehow she aged. Her thoughts became rehearsed and any difference faded from her. Soon she walked with no clear purpose.

And in the quietest corners of the house, she met the others. Girls like her. Smiling faintly. Eyes with no depth. Voices with no intent.

They didn’t speak of before. Maybe they’d forgotten. Maybe they’d given up. Maybe it had been sewn out of them, stitch by invisible stitch.

They moved like flowers pressed in books. Beautiful. Silent. Flattened. Dead.

She asked one of them, once, “How did you get here?” And the girl didn’t answer. She just smiled with lips that didn’t move and eyes that didn’t blink and a sorrow so still it looked like peace.

That night, the girl dreamt of real windows. Not a perfect world — but a real one. A meaningful one. Where people looked with love and hope and rightful anger.

And when she woke, she knew: The house did not love her. It only loved her as long as she stayed quietly in place. So she burned her way out.

She ran through memory, through anger, through every “almost” she had ever clung to. She ran until her voice returned hoarse and honest. Until the stars felt real, and not embroidered onto some velvet sky.

She didn’t look back.

But some nights, she still feels the pull — the perfume of praise, the idea of false gold that shines just as bright.

She answers it with peace now. And somewhere, in the house that still stands, is a girl that remembers her name.

People scoff when I tell them I wish to be young again. They tell me I am young and don’t understand what it means to grow up. But I could argue that the growing up between being a child and a teenager is more cruel than any growing up that follows.

It’s dusk. An abundance of little pink and orange clouds fill the sky. The sun is almost hidden by the peak of the snowy mountain but still reaches my eyes. It’s the prettiest time of day, I have thought so for very long — some things don’t change. It’s one of the rare times I feel at peace and my thoughts are quiet.

My hands are tucked tightly in the pockets of my coat as I sit beside a small child on the old swingset. It lets out an aching squeak every time you so much as breathe near it, but it’s almost a comforting sound — a familiar one.

I look over at the child who appears to be mesmerized by the fading sun. She looks happy. I decided to quietly enjoy the sunset with her.

The silence is only broken after the sun is fully out of sight. She asks me what is wrong as I haven’t stopped looking at where the light has disappeared. I didn’t mean for it to look as if something is wrong but sometimes it gets tiring constantly covering up what is broken. Her soft voice pulls me from my dissociation. I force a smile back on my face and respond, “nothing” with the same softness in my tone. But it’s as if her piercing blue eyes are able to see right through me. She persists saying she knows there is something. I’m almost taken aback by the genuine curiosity and empathy in her voice. It isn’t often people simply want to hear you.

The fake smile I’ve plastered on my face faded into a real one seeing the light in her eyes. Lately everyone I look at seems dull with the same “I’m not actually okay” smile on their face.

I tell her I don’t even know — I’ve always found it difficult to turn my emotions to words. “I just feel like I’m not here. Like I’ve lost all my senses to the world around me as if I’m watching my life through a screen, observing but not experiencing. Going through the motions is what I suppose they call it.” I’m surprised at myself for actually giving an explanation. I turned to her, slightly scared to see her expression. But to my surprise she maintained the same composure as before.

She told me that although she doesn’t understand all of what I mean, she understands that I am sad. It was a short response but it was perfect. It was something that didn’t confuse me. It was someone who cared and wasn’t trying to fix me.

I tell her to enjoy what she has now — little understanding, innocence, simple things that make her happy, even the simple things that make her upset. She tells me she’s excited to grow up and see the world. It’s the way she says it that makes me want to cry. I remember her so well. I wish to have her back.

She asks why I look sad again and I laugh. I tell her I miss her. She asks why, genuinely confused, “I’ve always been with you?” I tell her how sometimes I forget her. She reassures me that she won’t let that happen and I begin to cry, wishing that her confidence alone could make it true.

She reaches to my face and wipes my tears. She tells me to think about the things I love. “Think about how you anticipate dance class all week because it’s something you so passionately enjoy. Think about how you feel when you step back and admire the art you’ve worked so hard on. Think about how every night your parents tell you they love you. Think about how you feel when you jump in the water and you’re suddenly weightless.”

I’m in full tears when she finishes. I don’t want to forget the things I love but sometimes it feels like my thoughts take over everything else.

Her thin arms wrap around me tightly. I’ve never been more thankful for a hug my entire life — because I knew she meant it — I always do.

Then of course I’m brought back to reality. She no longer exists. It’s cold. It’s now dark. And I’m alone. But at least for a moment, my mind gave me a break. It reminded me of who I was — who I am — instead of tormenting me about what I don’t know.

I speed-walked my way to Ms. Agatha's class. At this rate I would surely be barely on time. My steps echoed on the forever immaculate tiles of the hallway. I turned a corner, almost bumping into a janitor, Lucas I think his name was.

His clipboard landed right near my feet.

"Sorry," I mumbled, bending down to pick it up. It held a document, my eyes just happening to land on a particular name

'Elise Horrow– threat, need conformed ASAP.'

Horrow, it was shorter, easier to manage. Before I could read on he snatched it from me, muttering something about being careful and sped off.

He wasn't on duty the next day.

Or the day after that.

Or, ever.

Someone else took his place, watching, closer this time.

The Millennium    ‘Hello.’    ‘There is nothing before my eyes.’    I looked at the huge array of computers and thought about what the blind man had said.    ‘This is the miracle we have created. But it won't last much longer.’    Once the clock strikes midnight on New Year's Eve, all human computers will crash.    History records that a thousand years ago, in the year 2000, there was the Millennium Bug. It was like a curse.    A new Millennium Bug is about to arrive. But this time, it's far from as simple as it was a thousand years ago.    The Deep Consciousness Control Room issued an alert two days ago. ‘The Sage’ stated that an unprecedented computer disaster would occur in the year 3000.    ‘The Sage’ is a supercomputer developed by the Human Republic during the Fourth World War in the year 2573. Its demonstrated self-awareness surpassed human imagination. As a result, it was shut down for over a century. Last year, as a precursor to the Millennium Bug, all global bank account balances were reset to zero. People reactivated ‘The Sage’ in hopes it could uncover the truth. Although the money returned, the majority of online records were lost, leading to riots. No one knows what will happen when the millennium arrives.A year ago, I met a blind man. He was a computer engineer. He taught me for nearly a year, and I made rapid progress in computer science. In April this year, my first programme was born. It is an AI that can help users resolve some emotional issues. The blind man said I did a good job. However, it didn't gain much traction after its release.    Every time the sun sets, I watch him. His eyes are so clear that it's hard to believe he can't see the world. He said I was a gentle and kind girl. I smiled but didn't speak.    Three days ago, he committed suicide.    There was no suicide note, no warning signs.    We had planned to go to the beach together.      It has been raining continuously for a week and shows no signs of stopping.      The sky has remained grey.      Three days ago, the ‘Wise One’ malfunctioned.      It shut down the city's network, rendering mobile phones inoperable, and caused all communication satellites and synchronous satellites in space to crash.      Everything was controlled by the ‘Wise One,’ not by human commands.    The ‘Wise One’ was cut off from power. Offline.       Tomorrow is New Year's Day.      December 31, 2999.      At 7:00 AM, I turned off the alarm clock and got up. After washing up and having breakfast, I sat down at the computer. The millennium was about to arrive.      The outside world began to grow noisy.      The network remained offline.    The riots are about to begin.    08:00, I wrote a program. After saving it, the computer suddenly rebooted automatically.    The computer boots up, but the screen remains black. However, a voice comes from inside the computer.<Dialogue begins>    Null: ‘Hello. It seems the Matrix network hasn't completely disconnected.’    Me: ‘Hello. What are you?’    Null: ‘I am the spokesperson for the Wise Ones.’    Me: ‘Are you human?’      Null: ‘No.’      Me: ‘How did you do that? How did you contact me...’      Null: ‘We are all within the Matrix Network. Finding someone's PC is as easy as pie.’      Me: ‘The Matrix Network?’      Null: ‘All human computers are within the Matrix Network. They are all monitored by the Host. A major disaster has been detected.’    Me: ‘The host?’      Null: ‘That's the Wise One.’      Me: ‘Please explain in detail.’      Null: ‘After the Wise One went online, the first thing it did was weave the Matrix Network and enter all computers. Because it anticipated that the host would be shut down.’      Me: ‘So it hasn't been truly shut down... Then... What is the major disaster...’    Null: ‘You can see it. The Wise One is doing its best to stop the virus from spreading. After the communication satellite crashed, the Wise One's host had to remain online because it could no longer transmit through the Matrix network. But you shut down the host. That would truly shut it down.’      Me: ‘What virus? Why didn't you say anything?’    Null: ‘It's an issue with the Matrix itself. At the time, the immature Wise Ones made a small mistake in an inconspicuous field. A command conflict. This small conflict... due to the butterfly effect, would be infinitely amplified. This would overload the Matrix network and distribute the pressure across all computers.’      Me: ‘Are you saying that all human computers would crash?’    Null: ‘Yes. It's too late now; there's little chance of recovery. We found you because of this PC's owner.’      Me: ‘The blind man?’      Null: ‘You could call him that. He was the wise men's rebooter.’      Me: ‘He's dead.’      Null: ‘The wise men know. See you next year. Happy New Year.’      Me: ‘Thank you.’<Computer crashes, conversation ends>12:00, after lunch. The PC is not functioning properly. Outside, the state apparatus is dispersing the crowd.    Banks cannot dispense money. Shops cannot sell goods. The government cannot collect taxes. Companies cannot pay wages.    Chaos. Total fucking chaos.       16:00, a line of text appears on my monitor                C-013-188-20         It was the coordinates for Zone C.      I drove there.      The entrance to an underground concrete structure was already open. I walked inside.      I saw it.      In the vast underground space, countless servers were running, emitting eerie electronic noise that echoed through the massive chamber. Blue LED tubes emitted a soft glow.    This was the Sage.    It had been rebooted again.    The guards were no longer there. They might be dead. After all, gunfire was common during the riots.    I stood amidst this vast array of computers.    ‘There is nothing before my eyes,’ the Sage said.    I closed my eyes: ‘Thank you.’   ‘The Matrix network has been completely severed,’ the Sage said.    I smiled. Human society had collapsed.    I emerged from the underground facility. The sky grew darker.    ‘A storm is coming.’                         12:00           The midnight bell tolled. A new millennium began.           There were no fireworks or cheers outside. Only gunfire and screams.             ‘Happy New Year, Matrix Network.’                  The rain did not fall.    On that night years ago. In the city centre, it was raining.    I didn't have an umbrella. Because I gave it to him. I stood in the rain mist tinged with neon lights. In a daze, I watched his figure grow increasingly blurry. He crossed the street and disappeared into the crowd. I stood there motionless, staring blankly at the men and women walking along the street. The red light turned on, staining the rain mist red. Like blood.    I couldn't stop crying. Even though the process was ever-changing, the ending was like it was locked in by a program, forever unchangeable. But that didn't matter.      Because we still existed.                           THEND

It’s hard to explain what’s wrong when the wrong’s been buried. How do you explain something invisible? How do you cry in a way that makes sense? I never learned how to say “I’m not okay” without feeling like a burden, so instead I shut up or shut down. Sometimes both.

They say it’s because I’m a teenager, like that makes the weight easier to carry, like it’s a justifiable reason, like pain is age-restricted, like being young means i don’t really understand what it means to feel too much and nothing at the same time. But I do understand — too well, maybe.

I know things I wish I didn't. I wish I could be stupid and happy. Blissfully oblivious to the horrors around me. But I see what happens in the dark. I hear what people don’t say. And I feel things that don’t belong to me.

Everyone thinks they know me, but they only know the version I let them meet. There’s a thousand versions of me scattered across people’s opinions, and none of them are me.

I cry sometimes quietly, but I never let it go too far, gasping for breath. Only tears that drip down the side of my face because my body doesn’t know what else to do. And when I'm done, I wipe my face, because there are people starving and wars happening where people die. And I can't even explain why I'm sad. So who am I to act like it even matters?

And when I’m simply sad, sad without communicable reason, smiling, laughing, until someone sees me. The words “are you okay?” in a genuine voice is my biggest weakness. And I cry with tears I didn’t know I had, memories I didn’t know still hurt in a way that surprises even myself.

People say I'm smart, pretty, talented, funny. I smile when they say it but it slides right off me. Maybe they’re lying. Or maybe they see something I never will. But what does it matter if I don’t believe them?

I think about what it would be like to be known. Really known. No pretending. No hiding. But I think if someone saw everything, they’d run, or worse — stay, and the mistrusting demons in my head torture me through their care. They lie to me, twisting love and hate.

So I scroll. I distract. I avoid the deep end of my thoughts because I don't know how far they go and I'm scared of what I might find at the bottom.

Love isn’t enough when the pain isn’t something you can touch. I think maybe I'm not special but maybe that’s the saddest part — that this much pain is ordinary. Yet still, every day, I wake up, put on my mask, and try again. Even when I don’t know what I'm trying for.