Two days passed by, and Dylan didn't show up. Rachael went to the park every evening at the same time he had appeared before, but each time, he never came. Her eyes kept searching for him among the trees, on the path, near the swings. She sighed, heavy-hearted, thinking perhaps he was never coming back. Maybe he had been a fleeting moment - beautiful, but gone. She told herself she wouldn't wait anymore, that she must stop thinking about him, but her heart didn't listen. His smile, those captivating blue eyes - they haunted her thoughts like a lullaby that refused to fade.
That afternoon, instead of heading straight home, Rachael walked to the edge of the abandoned house. The area was surrounded by tall fences with bold signs warning, "NO TRESPASSING." Through the gaps, she could see the river, the bridge that stretched over it, and just beyond - the house. Hollowed by time, charred and broken, yet stubbornly standing. How had it not collapsed after all this time? Not by storms, not by earthquakes. That house stood like a ghost clinging to the past.
"It would've been a beautiful place in its time, wouldn't it?"
Rachael spun around so fast her breath hitched. Dylan. Standing there like a vision she thought she'd imagined too many times. The white shirt clung to him like light, his jeans dusty from the road, and that same handwoven cap shadowed those maddeningly blue eyes. Her heart slammed in her chest - relief flooding her limbs so fast it made her dizzy. She wanted to run to him. She wanted to scream at him for disappearing. She wanted to never let him out of her sight again.
But instead, she turned away, forcing herself to walk, to pretend she didn't care. That he hadn't haunted every second of the last two days.
He followed with his voice - soft, almost wistful. "I heard they had stables... boats... a whole garden. The townspeople burned it all."
She paused. Her voice came out colder than she felt. "Yeah. Because the owner was heartless. Greedy. He left them no choice."
Dylan's tone dropped a little, his words slower, more thoughtful. "Still. Maybe they should've gone to the police. Burning everything... doesn't seem right."
Rachael turned, her eyes sharp. "The police? You really think anyone would've touched a man like him? He had money. Power. People like him don't face consequences."
He didn't argue - just looked at her with that calm, unreadable expression that made her feel like he could see everything. Then, quietly, his gaze dropped to the pendant at her neck. "Where did you get that?"
She touched it instinctively - the oval gold warm against her skin. "Two years ago. Found it on the riverbank. It was buried in mud. I don't know why I kept it. It just... felt important."
He stepped closer. So close she could smell the woods and the wind clinging to his shirt. His voice was softer now, more personal. "It's beautiful. Almost glowing. Like you."
Her cheeks flushed. She tried to look away, but her heart betrayed her - beating too fast, too loud. The ache of his absence still fresh and bleeding.
Dylan stepped toward the woods.
"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice suddenly breathless.
"To the woods."
She felt panic flutter in her chest - irrational, sudden. "Why? To the woods?"
"I built a cabin there. For myself. Somewhere peaceful."
"Can I come?" she asked quickly, too quickly.
Dylan raised a brow. "You sure? It's deep in the woods. Cold at night. And you barely know me."
"I don't care." Her voice was quiet, trembling. "I just want to come. Please."
He looked at her for a long moment, reading her expression. He could see the desperation she didn't voice - that craving to be near him, even if it made no sense. Finally, he nodded. "Alright. Come with me."
They walked side by side into the woods. Just beyond the thick trees, the cabin came into view - small and humble, made entirely from roughly cut timber that still carried the scent of the forest. Its single-room structure rested on uneven stone blocks.The roof, covered in corrugated metal sheets, clinked gently when the breeze picked up. A single wooden door, a little weathered and creaky, marked the entrance, and beside it was one square window with hand-sewn curtains inside.
There was no porch, just a couple of flat stones laid as steps. A stack of firewood leaned against one side, and a simple handmade bench sat beneath the window. The inside was just as unpretentious - one bed and a small table. It was the kind of place someone built with their own hands - not for style, but for shelter, peace, and a quiet life close to the trees.
Dylan lit a fire outside the cabin. "Sit. Make yourself comfortable."
Rachael sat, eyes wide as she took in everything.
"Aren't you afraid?" she asked. "Of the murderer? What if it really is a ghost?"
Dylan chuckled. "I've been coming here for two years. Still breathing, aren't I?"
"You come here a lot?"
"Only when I need peace. Nature heals more than people do."
He went inside and came back with a blanket, spreading it on the ground. "Come. Sit with me."
She joined him without hesitation. The firelight flickered in their eyes.
"Aren't you afraid of wild animals?"
He smiled. "Animals aren't the danger. It's people who hurt people."
They sat close beside the fire, the glow painting golden light across their faces. Their hands stretched toward the flames, almost touching but not quite - the space between them humming with something unsaid. They talked in murmurs, voices dipped in softness, eyes flicking between the flames and each other. Laughter slipped between them like a secret only they shared. In that small cabin clearing, wrapped in the hush of trees and the scent of pine and smoke, time didn't seem real. It was just them - just this.
The sun dipped behind the trees, leaving streaks of pink and gold trailing across the sky. As the shadows deepened and the warmth of the fire became the only source of light, Rachael pulled her arms around herself, a faint shiver running through her.
Dylan noticed immediately. He turned to her, his voice quiet but full of knowing. "You want to go back, don't you?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "It's getting dark. I should head to town..."
But her voice betrayed her - soft, reluctant. She didn't move.
"I'll walk you," he said gently, already standing. Then he turned to her and reached out his hand.
Rachael placed hers into his, the warmth of his palm grounding her. She rose slowly, her gaze catching his. Her eyes held something unspoken - a question, a wish, a silent plea. She didn't want to leave. Not really. Not after this.
Dylan said nothing, but he didn't let go.
He doused the fire with river water. Steam curled upward, shimmering in the fading light like a memory already forming.
They walked back through the trees together, step by slow step, the world around them dimming into quiet. Not a word passed between them, but everything was being said in the silence - the kind of silence that doesn't need filling.
At the edge of the town, he stopped.
"This is far enough," he said, his voice almost a whisper.
Rachael turned to him, lingering, not ready to step away. "Will I see you again?"
Dylan didn't answer with words. He just looked at her - deeply, like he was memorizing her. Then he smiled. Soft. Gentle. Like maybe this moment mattered to him, too.
And just like that, he turned back into the trees.
Rachael stood there for a long time, watching the place where he vanished. Her chest was warm and aching, full of something she didn't yet understand - but she knew one thing for sure:
This had been the most beautiful part of her day.
After dinner, the house was quiet - just the soft hum of the old refrigerator and the ticking clock above the sink. Rachael moved through the kitchen gently, washing the dishes one by one. The warm water over her hands felt grounding. She dried each plate and cup, placing them neatly back into the cupboard, then wiped down the counter and cleaned the sink until it gleamed.
Opening the freezer, she pulled out a tub of chocolate ice cream, her favorite comfort. She scooped a generous portion into a small ceramic bowl, then padded barefoot to the living room. The rocking chair - the one her father used to sit in - faced the chimney. It still smelled faintly of smoke and memories.
She curled into it, folding her legs beneath her, the bowl balanced in her lap. The fire was out, but she didn't mind the cold. Her eyes drifted to her hand, fingers softly closing around nothing. And yet, she could still feel it - the warmth of Dylan's hand in hers. His grip. The silence between them that had felt more alive than any conversation.
A smile touched her lips. She scooped a spoonful of ice cream, the sweetness melting on her tongue as easily as the memory melted into her thoughts.
He was out there, somewhere. In his cabin. In the woods. Maybe thinking of her, too.
She finished the bowl slowly, savoring the quiet. After washing it and placing it back in the cupboard, she climbed the stairs to her room.
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