Morning light spilled through the large windows, painting the wooden floors in soft gold. The house, though still bare, already felt different. There was something about waking up in a new place, wrapped in blankets that smelled like home, yet surrounded by walls that had yet to become ours.
We had spent the morning unpacking, our laughter filling the empty spaces as we tried to decide where everything belonged. Books found their way onto shelves, clothes into wardrobes, and little things pictures, notes, small tokens of us started to shape the house into something more.
At some point, I found you sitting on the floor, lost in thought as you held an old sketchbook in your hands. The pages were filled with moments from our past your art capturing every feeling, every fleeting glance, every whispered confession.
You looked up at me, a smile tugging at your lips. "I want to start a new one. For this place. For us."
I sat beside you, running my fingers over the pages. "Then let's fill it with everything this place will be."
The idea of creating something new, of capturing every moment of this fresh chapter, felt right. Because that's what love was a story always in the making.