July to November

JULY

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It was the middle of July, and the heat hung heavy in the air. Haven sat by the window of a small, tucked-away café, the sun casting golden rays across his scattered papers. He'd been working on his story for weeks, unsure if it would ever make sense to anyone but himself. The notebook in front of him was filled with half-written thoughts and unfinished sentences, each line a reflection of something he couldn't quite grasp.

As he tapped his pen against the table, lost in thought, a soft voice broke his focus.

"Is that your story?"

Haven looked up to see a girl standing near his table. She had deep brown eyes that seemed to sparkle in the afternoon light and long dark hair that framed her face. She wore a simple summer dress, and in her hand, she clutched a book with a well-worn cover.

"Uh, yeah," Haven replied, a little startled. "Just something I'm working on."

The girl smiled, a curious glint in her eyes. "Mind if I take a look?"

Haven hesitated. No one had read his work before, and the thought of sharing it made his chest tighten. But there was something in the way she asked — sincere, interested, without a hint of judgment — that made him nod.

"Sure," he said, sliding the notebook across the table.

She sat down, her name tag glinting briefly in the sunlight: Maria.

Maria gently flipped through the pages, her expression shifting as she read. Haven watched her closely, his heart thumping louder with each moment of silence. He wasn't sure if he wanted her to love it or hate it, but he knew he wanted to know what she thought.

After a few minutes, Maria looked up. Her smile had widened, and her eyes seemed to sparkle even more. "This is... incredible," she said softly. "You have such a beautiful way of capturing emotions. It feels so real, like I can see everything happening."

Haven blinked, unsure how to respond. "You really think so?"

"I do," she nodded earnestly. "I can tell you're writing from something deep inside. There's a lot of heart in these pages."

Her words wrapped around him like a cool breeze on that hot July afternoon. No one had ever said anything like that about his writing before. For the first time, he didn't feel like his words were trapped on paper — they had reached someone.

"What's your name?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Maria," she said, offering her hand.

"Haven," he replied, shaking it.

They spent the next hour talking about stories — hers, his, the ones they dreamed of writing someday. Maria was an avid reader, and as she shared her thoughts on the books she loved, Haven realized how much they had in common. She understood the way stories could hold pieces of you, the way words could be an escape or a mirror.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, turning everything a soft orange, Maria handed the notebook back to Haven.

"Keep writing," she said with a gentle smile. "The world needs more stories like yours."

And just like that, Haven knew that meeting Maria wasn't just a coincidence. In the middle of that quiet July, under the warmth of the summer sun, someone had finally read his story — and for the first time, he felt like it mattered.

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