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ECSTASY
It was on a late afternoon when the light lay like honey across the surface that she met Lukas. He appeared at the water’s edge with the easy gait of someone who belonged to the boots scuffed, sleeves rolled, hands that bore the honest marks of work. He was younger than she had expected—youthful in the way that made him both fragile and fierce. His face held a directness that startled her, as if he had not yet learned the art of hedging his words.
They spoke of small things at first—the weather, the town, the way the light fell on the water. Lukas had a voice that was plain and unadorned; he did not try to impress with stories of travel or cleverness. Instead he spoke of the mill and the baker and the way the fields smelled after rain. Eva found his company easy in a way that surprised her. He listened as if he were learning a language he had always wanted to speak, and in his listening she felt the rare luxury of being heard without correction.
As the sun slid down and the sky turned the color of old coins, their conversation deepened. Lukas asked about the small things that mattered to what she liked to read, whether she preferred the east-facing room for morning light, what she remembered about her mother’s songs. He did not pry; he asked with a curiosity that felt like respect. When she told him about the way she had left Emil, she did so without flourish, as if stating a fact. Lukas did not offer platitudes. He offered presence.
When he offered to walk her home, she accepted. The path was lined with trees that made a tunnel of shadow and light; their branches knitted overhead and the air smelled faintly of leaves and distant smoke. They walked slowly, sometimes in silence, sometimes exchanging small observations about the town. For the first time in months, Eva felt the steady, thrilling beat of something like hope. It was not a dramatic passion but a quiet, growing warmth that made the world seem less like a set of rules and more like a place where things could happen.
That evening, after they parted, Eva sat by the window and watched the stars come out. She thought of Lukas’s hands, the way they had moved when he spoke of the mill, and of the way he had listened without trying to fix her. The thought of him felt like a small, secret light she could carry with her. It did not erase the past; it only made the future feel less forbidding.
They spoke of small things at first—the weather, the town, the way the light fell on the water. Lukas had a voice that was plain and unadorned; he did not try to impress with stories of travel or cleverness. Instead he spoke of the mill and the baker and the way the fields smelled after rain. Eva found his company easy in a way that surprised her. He listened as if he were learning a language he had always wanted to speak, and in his listening she felt the rare luxury of being heard without correction.
As the sun slid down and the sky turned the color of old coins, their conversation deepened. Lukas asked about the small things that mattered to what she liked to read, whether she preferred the east-facing room for morning light, what she remembered about her mother’s songs. He did not pry; he asked with a curiosity that felt like respect. When she told him about the way she had left Emil, she did so without flourish, as if stating a fact. Lukas did not offer platitudes. He offered presence.
When he offered to walk her home, she accepted. The path was lined with trees that made a tunnel of shadow and light; their branches knitted overhead and the air smelled faintly of leaves and distant smoke. They walked slowly, sometimes in silence, sometimes exchanging small observations about the town. For the first time in months, Eva felt the steady, thrilling beat of something like hope. It was not a dramatic passion but a quiet, growing warmth that made the world seem less like a set of rules and more like a place where things could happen.
That evening, after they parted, Eva sat by the window and watched the stars come out. She thought of Lukas’s hands, the way they had moved when he spoke of the mill, and of the way he had listened without trying to fix her. The thought of him felt like a small, secret light she could carry with her. It did not erase the past; it only made the future feel less forbidding.
45 pages, Kindle Edition
Published December 5, 2025
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