Whispers of Lavender

Name: Whispers of Lavender
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Dstballer60

Romance | Ongoing

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The scent of lavender floated on the breeze, turning through the curving stone lanes of Valemont, a hidden village between hills of gold and violets. Lila on the corner of the lavender field, the soft brush of petals against her skin as she pulled back, closed her eyes and let the breeze carry her mind away. She had always thought of it as her refuge, until his return. Elias. He wasn't meant to come back. Not after seven years, not after vanishing without a word. But there he was, leaning against the old oak tree with the same intense brooding in his eyes, the same twisted smile that had made her heart trip over itself. Time hadn't mellowed his charm, nor worn off the edge of the pain of his departure. "Lila," he murmured, the words falling off his lips like a prayer. He stepped in, his body as solid and reassuring as the sun that watered the fields that ringed around them. "I never forgot you." Her breath caught. She longed to look away, to cover up the cracks in her heart he'd widened. But at his touch on her hand, a whisper-lit caress, something low inside her stirs. A memory. A longing. An ember she'd smothered years before under solitude and lavender flowers. The village had altered, seasons passed, but the truth remained suspended between them, sweet, painful, undeniable. Love, like lavender, never truly perishes. It clings, it waits. And sometimes, when the wind is just so, it returns.

Fantasy Love triangle Attractive Comeback

Chapter 5 The First Conversation

05-15 10:41

Chapter 1 Lila's Return To Valemont

The train coughed as it pulled into Valemont Station, a low mist of steam rising like a ghost into the morning sky. Lila pressed her forehead against the cold glass, watching the outline of the village materialize through a veil of lavender-colored mist. Seven years had gone by, and yet nothing seemed to have changed, the same quiet cobbled streets, red-brick cottages with ivy curling around the shutters, and the fields of lavender lying out like a violet sea to the horizon.

She stepped off the train carrying a worn leather suitcase in one hand and a memory-weighted heart. The scent of lavender hit her like a punch, earthy, floral, and searingly nostalgic. It was as if the wind itself recalled her, wrapping itself gently around her, whispering secrets from a life she had buried.

The station platform was nearly empty. A few of the villagers passed by, casting curious glances her way, but no one spoke her name. She had not expected that they would. The girl who departed Valemont was not the woman who came back. Lila Moreau was changed, older, wiser, and a bit more guarded. The city had a way of hardening even the most tender of hearts.

She walked slowly through the village, the soles of her boots whispering on stone walks worn smooth by time. There were the familiar shops fronting the main street, their Mira's Bakery, still sporting its faded awning, the little antique shop where she used to press her nose against the window, and the library where her mother had been employed. Each step was a collision of past and present, as if she were walking through the pages of a book she had tried to forget.

When she reached the edge of her grandmother's lavender farm, she paused.

The gate creaked open under her hand, and the field beyond it took her breath away.

Seamless rows of blooming lavender swayed in the breeze, humming with bees and life. The farmhouse sat in the center, its weathered white paint and sagging roof as worn and loved as the memories within. A swing still hung from the old oak tree, and beside it, a rusty watering can rested where she'd placed it all those years ago.

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, letting the scent of the fields fill her lungs. Here, nothing ever changed. Really.

"Lila?"

The voice startled her.

She turned, and her breath caught.

Elias Hart.

He rested against the barn, a bouquet of lavender in one hand, morning sun gold on his rumpled dark hair. He was larger now, his boyish features honed to more defined lines by time. But the eyes, still that gentle, stormy gray, sliced through her as always.

Neither of them moved for a moment.

Then Lila spoke. "Elias."

He stepped nearer, warily, as if she would vanish like a dream. "I didn't know you were coming back."

"I wasn't sure I was," she admitted.

There was silence between them, weighted with all they did not say. The last time they'd seen each other, she had been crying on this same ground, suitcase in hand, while he stood back and let her leave.

He looked down, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. "I've been taking care of the farm. Your grandmother asked me to before she passed."

Lila's heart clenched. "I know. She left me the deed. That's why I'm here."

His gaze flickered up, searching her face. "Are you... staying?"

The question lingered in the air like perfume.

"I don't know yet," she said honestly. "I guess I'm trying to figure that out."

Elias nodded, his expression unreadable. "The fields are still blooming. She would've liked that."

"I think she would," Lila whispered, looking out over the rows of lavender. "She always said the flowers listen to the heart."

He smiled faintly. "Then they'll be glad to hear yours again."

For a moment, time folded back in on itself. They were standing where first kisses were stolen and promises were broken. She wanted to ask him why he never wrote. Why he let her leave without fighting for her. But the words got caught in her throat. It was too soon, or maybe too late.

"I should get inside," she said instead.

Elias backed off, but his eyes remained. "If you need anything, I'm just down the road. The farm's quiet these days."

She nodded, clutching her suitcase a little tighter. "Thanks."

He hesitated before turning away. "It's good to see you again, Lila."

As he walked away, the wind picked up, and the scent of lavender traveled between them like a bridge made of memories.

She stayed a little longer, her heart pulsing gently against her ribs.

Returning to Valemont was supposed to be a simple choice, tie up loose ends, maybe sell the farm, and move on. Yet there was nothing straightforward about being here. Not the air, not the house, and definitely not Elias.

The creaking front door opened as she came in. The farmhouse wrapped itself around her with its worn old floors and old faded wallpaper, the smell of lavender and lemon oil still in the air. Her grandmother's rocking chair was still sitting by the window, and beside it, an old diary sat on the table.

Lila stroked it gently, the leather warm under her fingers.

Maybe the past wasn't done whispering to her.

Maybe she wasn't done listening.