We decided to explore the little town nestled beyond the hills, hand in hand, like two travelers in a storybook. The road was quiet, carved with the golden silence of the afternoon sun. Every turn, every stone fence, felt like it was waiting for our footprints.
You wore a soft smile, the kind that said everything was right in the world. We passed old shops with handwritten signs, a bakery that smelled like childhood, and a bookstore tucked between ivy-covered walls. Inside, the dust danced in the light, and you ran your fingers along the spines of forgotten stories.
I watched you, not just with my eyes, but with the part of me that remembers moments like these forever.
At a small antique shop, you found a music box. When it played, its melody was slow and haunting, like a lullaby from another life. We bought it, of course. You held it to your heart like a secret only we could hear.
As the sky turned amber and the street lamps blinked awake, we sat by a fountain in the town square. The world moved around us, but for a little while, we just listened to the water and the music box and the peace that wrapped around us like home.