When Isadora finds a forgotten notebook in her library hideaway, she can't resist pouring her thoughts into its empty pages. Days later, she's surprised to find a stranger's reply scribbled in the margins.
Luca never intended to write back, but some...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
— Do you remember when you tried to build that treehouse in the backyard? — my dad chuckled, his voice warm and amused, pulling me back into a memory I hadn’t thought of in years.
The sun was setting, casting a soft, golden glow over the park, and we sat together on a worn wooden bench under an old oak tree. I could feel the comfort of his arm stretched along the top of the bench, his steady warmth beside me like the safest place in the world. He looked at me with that glint in his eyes – the one that said he saw me not just as his daughter, but as someone who could take on anything.
I rolled my eyes, laughing. — Of course, I remember. I was five, and I did it all by myself.
Dad snorted. — Sure, “all by yourself”. Except that it looked like a pile of sticks. I barely slept that week, thinking it was going to collapse on you.
I nudged him.
— Hey, it had a roof and everything! And it didn’t fall, did it?
He chuckled, shaking his head. — Alright, fair enough. It didn’t fall. But don’t go thinking you’re ready to build a house just yet.
I laughed, and he reached over, ruffling my hair. — You’re a little dreamer, aren’t you? Always trying to make the impossible happen.
I relaxed beside him, looking out over the quiet park. Moments like these felt like they could stretch on forever, safe and warm, wrapped in his voice and the laughter that was never far between us.
— Remember that one summer at the beach house? — I asked suddenly, a memory surfacing from nowhere. — Mom tried to make us all play volleyball, but she kept tripping in the sand? And you… you tried so hard not to laugh at her.
His laughter died down slowly, and something in his face changed, so slight I almost missed it – the light in his eyes dimmed, the warmth of his smile faded. He looked away, his jaw tightening just slightly as if he were holding something back.
— Yeah, I remember, — he said, his voice softer now, quieter.
The silence that followed felt heavy, like a storm cloud looming just out of sight. I watched him, a strange feeling building in my chest, something between worry and confusion.
— Did… did I say something wrong? — I asked gently, my voice barely a whisper.
He cleared his throat, glancing back at me with a forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes. — No, Isa, nothing like that. Sometimes… well, sometimes memories are more complicated than they seem.
I didn’t understand what he meant, but the way his smile vanished... it unsettled me, made my heart feel heavy in a way I couldn’t explain. I tried to read his face, searching for an answer in the way his jaw tightened, in the way his gaze drifted, lost in thoughts he didn’t want to share. The feeling gnawed at me, like I’d touched something fragile without realizing it.
