Eternal season

The coastal town of Merrivale welcomed spring with the kind of unrestrained joy Aria Sullivan hadn't felt in years. The sun, soft but resolute, painted golden streaks over the cobblestone streets. The gentle lapping of waves harmonized with the buzz of voices in the market square, where vendors called out their wares-honeycomb candies, woven baskets, handmade trinkets. Aria pulled her scarf tighter around her neck, her fingers brushing against the worn leather binding of her journal.

It had been her constant companion during her return to Merrivale, a place she hadn't visited since her childhood. She'd fled here for peace. After the chaos of city life-endless deadlines, late nights, and the suffocating hum of traffic-Merrivale offered her breathing room. Yet, as she navigated the lively square, she realized peace wouldn't come easily. The festival was bursting with activity: children darting between stalls, couples dancing to the sound of fiddles, and an elderly man playing a harmonica in the corner. It wasn't long before her wandering feet brought her to a quieter part of the festival. Tucked away between a florist's tent and a book vendor, a small photography booth caught her attention. It wasn't the booth itself that stopped her-it was the photographs. Each one was a window into another world. There was a black-and-white image of a boy with a kite, his silhouette frozen against the backdrop of a raging storm. Another showed an elderly woman standing in a field of wildflowers, her face etched with a lifetime of stories. Each photo seemed to breathe, as though the subjects might step out of the frames at any moment. "These are..." Aria trailed off, at a loss for words. "Alive?" came a voice from behind her. She turned sharply and found herself face-to-face with a man whose presence seemed to demand attention. He was tall, with dark, unruly hair that fell just above his brows. His gray eyes, piercing and calm, studied her with quiet curiosity. A camera hung from a strap around his neck, its metal glinting in the sunlight. "Yes," Aria said, her voice steadier now. "Alive." The man smiled, a fleeting but genuine expression. "That's the goal. Capturing the soul of a moment before it disappears." Aria's gaze returned to the photographs. "You're the photographer?" He nodded, stepping beside her to adjust one of the prints hanging slightly askew. "Kai Alaric." He extended a hand toward her. "Photographer, wanderer, occasional dreamer." There was something disarming about his tone-half serious, half playful. Aria hesitated before shaking his hand. "Aria Sullivan. Writer, overthinker, and professional tea drinker." Kai chuckled. "Well, it's not every day a writer stumbles into my corner of the world. What brings you to Merrivale, Aria?" She shrugged, though her answer was carefully measured. "I needed a change of scenery. A place to think, away from the noise." He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Then maybe you've come to the right place. Merrivale has a way of offering clarity-if you're willing to look for it." Aria felt a small smile tug at her lips. "And what about you? What's a photographer like you doing here?" Kai glanced around, his eyes drifting over the festival crowd. "Looking for stories to tell. The kind that can't be found anywhere else." Before Aria could respond, a burst of laughter from a nearby stall drew his attention. He turned back to her, slipping a small card into her hand. "I'm hosting a gallery tonight," he said. "It's nothing fancy, but if you're looking for more inspiration, stop by. I'd love to hear what a writer thinks of my work." He smiled again, a quick but genuine expression, before disappearing into the crowd. For a moment, Aria stood frozen, her gaze lingering on the card in her hand. It was simple, with an address scrawled in elegant handwriting. There was no name, no title-just a place and a time. The rest of the day passed in a blur of sights and sounds, but Aria's mind kept circling back to that brief conversation. Kai Alaric. There was something about him-a quiet confidence, a depth in his words that stirred something inside her. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the town in hues of pink and orange, Aria had made up her mind. She would go to the gallery. The address led her to a narrow alleyway on the outskirts of the square. The soft glow of string lights illuminated the entrance, and the faint hum of music spilled into the street. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door. The space inside was small but inviting. Photographs adorned the walls, each lit by a single spotlight. Some were bold and vivid, others quiet and introspective, but all carried the same sense of life that had drawn her to Kai's booth. Kai stood near the center of the room, speaking to a small group of people. When he noticed her, his face lit up in a way that made her stomach flutter. "You came," he said, breaking away from the group to approach her. "I couldn't resist," she admitted, gesturing to the photographs. "These are... incredible." He smiled, his eyes softening. "I'm glad you think so. I've always believed that photography is about connection-finding the threads that tie us all together, even if we don't realize it." Aria nodded, her gaze drifting to a photo on the far wall. It was a close-up of a child's hand reaching out toward the sky, a single raindrop clinging to their fingertips. "Do you ever wonder," she asked, "if the stories you're telling belong to you, or to the people in the photographs?" Kai tilted his head, considering her words. "I think they belong to both. A photograph is a collaboration-between the subject, the photographer, and the person who sees it." They stood in silence for a moment, the hum of the room fading into the background. "Do you write stories like that?" Kai asked, his voice low. Aria hesitated. "I try. But it's hard to capture something real. Something that lasts." Kai's gaze held hers, steady and unflinching. "Maybe that's why we're here-to figure it out." The intensity of his words took her by surprise, and for a moment, she felt as though he could see straight through her. Before she could respond, someone called his name from across the room. Kai gave her a small, apologetic smile. "Stay as long as you like," he said. "And if you have more questions, I'll be here." As he walked away, Aria turned back to the photographs, her mind buzzing with thoughts she couldn't quite untangle. That night, as she lay awake in her small rented cottage, she couldn't stop thinking about Kai Alaric-the man who seemed to see the world in a way she'd only dreamed of. She had come to Merrivale seeking peace, but what she found was something far more complicated-and infinitely more intriguing