The house felt different in the quiet of the night. The wind whispered against the windows, the wooden floors carried the soft echoes of our movements. We hadn't unpacked much, just enough to make the space livable for the night. A mattress in the center of the living room, a couple of blankets, and the warmth of knowing that we were here, together.
Candles flickered in the dim light, their soft glow dancing along the walls. We sat close, wrapped in the quiet, our fingers tangled between us.
"This feels like the first page of a book," you murmured, resting your head on my shoulder.
I smiled, pressing a kiss to your hair. "And every page after will be ours to write."
The house creaked as it settled into the night, but it didn't feel empty. It felt alive, waiting for the stories we would bring into it.
As I pulled you closer, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breath, I realized that this wasn't just a place. It was a beginning. And beginnings, no matter how uncertain, were always full of magic.