The long way to us

Chapter 1

The Echo of Lost Words

The city of New York buzzed with the relentless pulse of life; it was loud, vibrant, alive. It was everything Leah Waldof loved and everything that seemed to mock her now. Standing in front of the glass doors of the café-library she owned, a place where the smell of books mingled with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee, Leah felt the weight of it all press against her chest. The walls that once seemed to hold her dreams up now seemed too thin to withstand her storm.

"You've got this, Leah," she whispered, the echoes of her own voice fighting the tremble. She ran a hand through her dark hair, eyes catching the reflection of a smile that felt like a betrayal. A smile for her customers, for the people who depended on the sanctuary she had built. A smile that concealed the ache in her chest that seemed to pull tighter every day.

The past few months had been a cacophony of noise—laughter that was too bright, glances that spoke of something she could not define, and conversations that turned into echoes of emptiness. What had started as a dream, a fairytale written in the margins of songs and stories, had become a song of loss and betrayal. A song Leah had not yet found the words to sing.

As she moved between tables, Clara, her ever-present assistant, caught her eye, her own expression a soft murmur of worry. Clara didn't say anything; she didn't need to. They both knew that Leah's silence spoke louder than any words ever could.

The door chimed, and Leah glanced up, the noise slicing through the silence like an arrow. A group of friends entered, their laughter like music she used to recognize. Among them, a man with tousled dark hair and eyes that seemed to carry storms stepped in, drawing her attention.

Elijah.

Her heart thumped, the sound drowning out the warmth of the room. He was there, standing with Ryan and Josh, two of his bandmates from Inhaler, their conversation a low murmur. His eyes caught hers for a fleeting second, and for a moment, time hesitated, caught between past and present.

Leah turned her gaze away and focused on a worn copy of *The Great Gatsby* resting on the counter. The words felt as heavy as the ones in her chest, and she didn't need to read them to know the story of longing and loss they told. She had lived it, and right now, all she wanted was to hide behind the stories of others, pretending she wasn't the protagonist of her own tangled narrative.

"Leah," Clara whispered, interrupting her thoughts. Leah exhaled, the memory of the moment with Elijah slipping into the cracks between them. "I'm fine, Clara. Just... memories," Leah replied, forcing a smile she didn't feel.

The band's laughter reached her ears, and her eyes darted to where Elijah stood, his face illuminated by the glow of the café's soft lights. He was talking with Josh, but the gaze he cast her way made her stomach twist. Memories of late nights spent sharing secrets, hands brushing under moonlight, whispered promises made in the quiet of the world replayed in her mind. But it was different now. They were all different. She was different.

A distant memory surfaced, one of the countless nights she'd spent with Elijah, where the world fell away, and all that remained was the space between them. She could hear his voice, raspy and tender, as he whispered, "Promise me, Leah. Promise me we'll always fight for this."

But promises, she'd learned, were just words. And words were like songs—beautiful, fleeting, and ultimately forgotten.

The air seemed thicker now, heavy with the scent of old pages and the sweet bite of coffee. The door chimed again, breaking her reverie. Kayla walked in, her presence always like a burst of sunlight. Leah's best friend, confidant, and sister at heart, Kayla's laughter rang out like music, cutting through the noise of her thoughts.