The train slowed as it curved along the glittering coast, its steel frame rattling with a sound that seemed to echo against the sea cliffs. Through the window, Elena Marquez saw the familiar shape of Makel City appear. The town had not changed much, at least not from a distance. White cottages clung to the hills, red roofs sloping under the late afternoon sun. The lighthouse at the edge of the cliff still stood tall, its paint weathered but proud. Her hand pressed lightly against the glass. It had been nearly ten years since she last saw this view. Ten years since she had left for school abroad with dreams that stretched farther than Makel City's borders. Ten years since she believed that she had finally broken away from the quiet gossip of small town life. Yet here she was again, sitting alone, with a suitcase by her side and a heart weighed down by failure she had no wish to name. The conductor's voice called out the town's name. Elena rose, smoothed her blouse, and gripped the handle of her suitcase. She had not told many people she was coming back. Only her younger sister, Marisol, knew. Marisol had promised to meet her at the station, though Elena was not sure if she should trust her sister's punctuality. Elena stepped down, her heels clicking on the wooden planks, and took a breath that filled her lungs with the air. The scent of seaweed and flowers from the hills mingled in a way that had once made her restless. Now it made her remember her memory here. "Elena!" A voice rang out. She turned, expecting Marisol's bright smile, but instead her eyes fell on a man she knew well. Lucas Grant stood a few steps away, taller than she remembered, the sun catching the gold in his brown hair. He wore a clean white shirt rolled up at the sleeves and carried himself with confidence. A vineyard boy grown into a man. For a heartbeat Elena could not move. "Elena," he said again, his voice lower this time, a mix of surprise and something she could not name. She managed a smile, though she felt not easy. "Lucas. You were not supposed to be here." "Marisol told me," he replied, his mouth curving just slightly. "She said you might need help with your luggage. And maybe with the stares. You know how the town is." Elena glanced around. He was right. Several people had already paused to watch. Some whispered to one another, eyes fixed on her as if her return were a story to be passed around at dinner tables tonight. She lifted her chin, refusing to shrink beneath their curiosity. "I can manage," she said, though her suitcase was heavy.
Lucas stepped forward and took it from her hand anyway. "Let me. It has been too long for pride." His fingers brushed hers in the exchange. The touch was brief, almost accidental, yet it felt something.
They walked together out of the station. The cobblestone streets of Makel City stretched before them, lined with bakeries, bookshops, and the same family owned stores she remembered. Flower boxes overflowed with color from windowsills. Children darted past with laughter, and shopkeepers leaned in doorways to greet passersby. It was almost painfully picturesque, as if the years had been trapped in a painting. "You came back," Lucas said softly beside her.
"For a while," she answered. "Is that all?" She hesitated, then gave him a look. "I am not ready to explain everything yet." He nodded as if he understood. Lucas had always been like this. They turned toward the Marquez home, a modest white house with lavender climbing up the porch railings. Marisol stood on the steps, her dark curls bouncing as she waved. "There you are!" Marisol exclaimed, rushing down to embrace her sister. "You look older, but still too serious. Did Lucas find you first? I told him not to steal my moment." Lucas lifted Elena's suitcase with ease. "I did not steal anything. I simply arrived on time." Elena laughed, though it came out thin. She hugged Marisol tightly. "It is good to see you." "Better to see you," Marisol said. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she glanced at Lucas. "Do not think I missed how you carried her bag. Old habits." Lucas gave a small shake of his head. Elena felt heat rise in her cheeks. She was suddenly aware of how close Lucas stood, of how the years had not erased his presence in her life, even after her absence. Inside, the house smelled of rosemary and fresh bread. Their mother had passed years ago, and Marisol had taken on the role of keeping the home alive. Photographs lined the hallway walls, showing smiling faces at birthdays, graduations, and vineyard festivals. Elena's eyes lingered on one photo of herself and Lucas as teenagers, standing shoulder to shoulder during a summer carnival. She looked away quickly.
Dinner passed in a blur of conversation, Marisol asking endless questions, Lucas answering when Elena grew quiet. When the plates were cleared, Lucas rose.
"I should leave you two," he said. His gaze flicked to Elena. "But I will see you again. The vineyard festival is in two days. Everyone will be there." "I had forgotten," Elena admitted.
"Then you have perfect timing," Lucas replied. He gave a polite nod to Marisol, then left.
The house felt quieter without him. Marisol smirked at her sister. "He has not changed. Neither have you, though you try to act otherwise." "Do not start," Elena warned, though there was no edge to her voice. "Why not? You left, but he never stopped waiting. The whole town knows it. And now you are back."
Elena rubbed her temples. "Marisol, I came back because I needed a place to breathe, not because I wanted to reopen old stories."
"Old stories have a way of finding you," Marisol said gently. Later that night, Elena stood at her bedroom window. The air was cool, carrying the sound of distant waves.