Whispers of Maplebrook

t glow from the streetlights cast shadows on the cobblestone road, and she felt a pang in her chest. Not of sadness, b

in the campus coffee shop than in the library. She had been captivated by his easy charm, the way he always seemed to be laughing, as though the weight of the world couldn't touch him. They had m

trigued her. He was different than the others, she had thought. Underneath his carefree attitude, she could see a depth he didn't often show. And she, in turn, had intrigued him. She wasn't like the other girl

had made a comment about how much he hated Hemingway's style, calling it boring and overra

"It's not about what he says, it's about what he doesn't say

ore a slow smile spread across his face.

reams. She had shown him her world of literature, of words and stories, and in return, he had shown her his wo

writer, moving to the city to pursue her career, while Ethan had taken over his family's small business back in Maplebro

connection she and Ethan had shared all those ye

ting a ghost from the past. The memories of their time together had been too sharp, too vivid, and s

fallen back into an easy rhythm, the way they used to, but with an added layer of maturity. They weren't the same people they

an had looked at her tonight, the quiet intensity in his eyes, the way his voice had sounded when he had said, You don't

spent so much of her life running-first from her small hometown, then from her failures, and finally from her loneliness.

She remembered the way they had laughed together, the way they had argued over silly things like which book to read next. She re

e less frequent, the way the silence between them had grown louder until it was all that was left. They had

moment, she wondered if Ethan was looking at them too. Was he thinking about their past, about everything they

now. And tha

ing from the past, from her memories of Ethan, that she had never allowed herself to fully process what had happe

reath, she ma