Where our hearts return

The rain arrived early that morning, tiptoeing down from the skies like an apology that came too late. In the town of Wren Hollow, the first drops kissed the pavement outside Chapters & Charms, a small, warm bookstore café tucked between a vintage flower shop and an art gallery that never seemed to sell anything. Bella Carter loved mornings like these-grey, soft, and hushed-as if the world was taking a breath before anything could begin again.

She stood behind the counter, watching the steam rise from her first cup of chamomile tea, the scent mingling with the paper-sweet aroma of books and pastries. The café was empty, save for the ticking of the vintage wall clock and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards as the building settled around her.

Bella wore her favorite wool cardigan-navy blue, oversized, with pockets deep enough to hold dreams-and her hair was loosely tied, wisps curling against her cheekbones. She looked every bit the image of the calm she'd created here. But inside, her heart was a quiet storm.

Every morning since she opened Chapters & Charms three years ago, Bella had followed the same ritual: unlock the front door, switch on the hanging lantern lights, steep her tea, open the mail. Bills. Flyers. Occasionally a handwritten note from one of the local kids who liked to leave thank-you cards after book club meetings. It was peaceful. Predictable. Safe.

That morning, however, nestled between a vendor invoice and a coupon from the bakery across the street, was an envelope that didn't belong.

Sky blue. No return address. But the handwriting-God, the handwriting.

Bella froze. Her fingers trembled slightly as she turned the envelope over, scanning for a clue that would prove her wrong. But there it was-her name, written in a script she hadn't seen in seven years.

Bella.

Only one person ever wrote her name like that, like it was a song he still remembered.

Roman Hayes.

The bell above the door chimed, a sound Bella usually found comforting. Today it made her flinch.

"Morning, Miss Carter!" came the chirpy voice of Jules, the high school junior who worked part-time and always arrived twenty minutes early. "Want me to start the scones?"

Bella quickly slid the envelope into her cardigan pocket and turned, forcing a smile. "Yes, please. Let's go with the lemon ones today."

Jules bustled into the kitchen, humming a Taylor Swift song, blissfully unaware of the emotional time bomb tucked inside Bella's sweater.

Bella returned to the counter, her hands clenching the edge of the wooden surface. The letter pulsed against her side. She didn't open it. Not yet.

Instead, she looked out the window at the rain-slick street, at the hazy outlines of lives moving forward. Wren Hollow wasn't a big town-everyone knew everyone, and secrets were as hard to hide as fireflies in a jar. Still, Bella had kept hers locked away. The heartbreak. The what-ifs. The boy who promised her forever and left without a word.

Until now.

⸻

The morning passed in a blur. Customers trickled in-mothers with strollers, college students with earbuds, retirees looking for something new to read. Bella smiled, poured coffee, gave recommendations, all the while keenly aware of the weight in her pocket.

At 11:17 a.m., during a lull in foot traffic, she closed the register, turned the café sign to Back in 10, and climbed the narrow stairs to her office above the store. Once inside, she shut the door, drew the curtains, and pulled the envelope from her sweater.

Her hands hesitated. What was she hoping for? An explanation? An apology? A beginning, or an ending?

She opened the letter.

The scent of cedar and old ink hit her instantly-Roman always wrote with fountain pens, said ballpoints were too impersonal. His words filled the page in his tight, left-slanted script.

Bella,

If you're reading this, it means I've found the courage to reach out after all these years. I don't know where to begin except to say I'm sorry. For the silence. For leaving. For everything I never said when I should have.

I've thought about you every day since I walked away. I know that's not fair to you. I don't expect forgiveness, or even a response. But I needed you to know-what happened between us wasn't meaningless to me. You were the best part of my life. Still are.

I'll be in town for a few weeks. If you ever want to talk... I'll be at the lake. You know the spot.

Roman

Bella read the letter once. Twice. Then again.

By the fourth time, her tears smudged the ink.

The lake. Their lake. The place where he first told her he loved her. Where they used to lie on the grass and make plans for the future. The place he was supposed to meet her the night before he left for New York-and never showed.

She had waited three hours in the cold before realizing he wasn't coming.

Bella folded the letter and stared at the ceiling. A laugh escaped her lips-sharp, bitter, then soft.

Why now?

⸻

She didn't go to the lake that day. Or the next. But she carried the letter everywhere-pressed against her heart like a question without an answer.

On Thursday evening, after closing up, Bella stood by the front window, watching the last streaks of sunset disappear behind the trees. Her reflection stared back at her-older, a little wiser, but still the girl who believed love was something you fought for.

She slipped on her coat and locked the door behind her.

The lake was a twenty-minute walk, just beyond the edge of town, surrounded by whispering pines and wildflowers that never quite gave up, even in autumn. As she approached, memories rose like fog: shared laughter, stolen kisses, promises carved into tree bark.

And then she saw him.

Roman.

He was sitting on their old bench, looking out at the water, a thermos beside him, his coat unzipped despite the chill. His hair was shorter now, and there was a new line around his mouth, like life had pressed a little harder on him. But she would've recognized him anywhere.

He turned before she could speak, as if he'd known she was there all along.

"Bella," he said, standing.

She stared at him, her heart thundering in her chest.

"Why are you here, Roman?" she asked, her voice quieter than she meant it to be.

His gaze held hers. "Because I couldn't stay away anymore."

She laughed-low, broken. "Seven years, and now you just... show up?"

"I didn't come to make excuses. Just to tell you the truth. Finally."

Bella crossed her arms, needing something to anchor her. "You disappeared. No note. No call. Nothing."

"I was scared," he admitted. "I got the internship in New York, and I thought... I thought I had to take it. That if I stayed, I'd always wonder 'what if.' But leaving you-God, Bella, it was the biggest mistake of my life."

She looked down at the dirt path, her shoes speckled with rain.

"I waited for you," she whispered.

"I know," he said, voice cracking. "And I'll never forgive myself for that."

Silence settled between them, thick with everything unsaid. Then, softly, Roman reached into his coat and pulled out something small.

A book. Her book.

The one she wrote in college. A collection of poems she'd self-published and sold less than fifty copies of.

"I kept it," he said. "All these years. I read it when I miss you."

Bella's breath caught.

Roman stepped closer. "I know I don't deserve a second chance. But I had to try. Even if all you give me is this moment."

She looked up at him, and for the first time in years, allowed herself to remember-not just the pain, but the love. The joy. The feeling of being seen.

"I don't know what this is, Roman," she said. "But it's not nothing."

His eyes brightened. "Then maybe it's a beginning."