GRAVITY OF ALANA

CHAPTER ONE

I jolted awake to the blaring sound of my alarm, my body protesting as if I’d only just closed my eyes. Blinking against the faint morning light, I took in the familiar yet still strange surroundings. This place didn’t quite feel like home yet. Groaning, I buried my head under the pillow, clinging to the last scraps of sleep. After a few moments, I forced myself to sit up, rubbing the haze from my eyes, and dragged my feet across the cool wooden floor toward the bathroom.

I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror and paused. My dark hair was a tangled mess, the kind that spoke of restless sleep. I ran a hand through the strands, trying to tame the chaos, and traced a faint crease on my cheek where the pillow had pressed into my skin. The sight was unremarkable, yet grounding. With a small sigh, I turned on the shower, the steady rush of water a soothing backdrop as I began my morning routine.

Afterwards, I dressed in my favourite sky-blue dress—a soft, comfortable piece that cinched slightly at the waist and fell just above my knees. Simple yet professional, it struck the right balance for the office. The collar framed the delicate silver necklace I always wore: a seashell-shaped charm, a gift from Aunt Liz years ago. I smoothed my dark hair into a sleek curtain that fell just past my shoulders and gave my reflection one final glance. My brown eyes stared back at me, tired but steady, my skin glowing faintly with the olive undertones of my mother’s Mediterranean roots. By the time I made it downstairs, Aunt Liz was already seated at the dining table, her coffee mug cradled in both hands. She smiled as I walked in, but her eyes lingered a little too long on my face.

“You didn’t sleep much, did you?” she asked.

I shook my head lightly, brushing off the concern. “I’m fine.”

“You’re always saying that,” Aunt Liz replied with a small sigh. Her tone wasn’t scolding, just knowing. “Just remember, you’re allowed to lean on people every now and then.”

Her words hung in the air as I grabbed a piece of toast and poured myself a cup of coffee. It was a conversation we’d had a dozen times since I’d arrived, but she never pushed further. For that, I was grateful.

Instead, she reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Good luck on your first day, Elena. You’ll do great.”

I smiled or tried to, before heading toward the door. “Thanks, Aunt Liz. I’ll see you later.”

Outside the morning air was warm and fresh, carrying with it a faint, familiar hint of saltwater. The streets of Alana stretched before me, quiet and golden under the early sunlight. This town hadn’t changed much since I’d left. It still wore the same postcard-perfect charm, like a place frozen in time. But beneath the bright surface, it held memories I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

It had been a month since I’d returned, and I was still finding my footing. Working at the Alana Gazette was supposed to be a fresh start—or at least a way to slow things down. The drive through town was serene, and the surroundings were so familiar that it almost felt like the years away had been a dream.

The Alana Gazette was a modest building on Main Street, tucked between a bakery and a thrift shop. Its chipped blue door had seen better days, and the small brass plaque reading “Alana Gazette—Est. 1954” hung slightly askew. I paused outside, drawing in a deep breath, before stepping in.

The scent of old paper and freshly brewed coffee greeted me—a nostalgic blend that pulled me straight back to my first newsroom internship. Inside, the space was small but bustling, with open desks clustered together and walls lined with filing cabinets and cluttered bulletin boards. A few heads turned my way, curious eyes giving me a polite once-over. In a town like Alana, a new face didn’t go unnoticed.

“You’re Elena Parker, right?”

The voice belonged to a tall man with graying hair and a slightly rumpled blazer. He stepped toward me, extending a hand.

“I’m George Adler, editor-in-chief. Good to finally meet you in person.”

“Nice to meet you, George,” I replied, shaking his hand. His grip was firm, his sharp gaze assessing.

His gaze flicked over me quickly, assessing but not unkind. “We’re glad to have you on board. It’s not every day we get someone with city experience out here in Alana.”

I could hear the unspoken question in his voice, but I didn’t offer anything.

“Come on, I’ll show you around,” he said, gesturing for me to follow.

We weaved through the desks, past stacks of papers and faded photographs of Alana’s past. George pointed out the coffee station, the break room, and finally stopped at a desk near the window. “This will be your spot,” he said.

The desk was small, but the view made up for it. Through the window, I could see Main Street in all its sunlit simplicity. People strolled leisurely, carrying brown paper bags from the bakery or chatting over cups of coffee on the benches.

On the desk, a manila folder waited for me. George tapped it lightly. “Your first assignment. A piece on the Summer Festival. It’s an easy start, but once you’re settled, I’ll have something a little more substantial for you.”

“Substantial?” I asked.

His expression shifted, just slightly. “We’ve got a few things brewing around town—nothing big, just... the kinds of stories that tend to catch people’s attention.”

I nodded, not entirely sure what he meant but sensing there was more to it.

“Anyway, I’ll let you get to it,” he said, stepping back. “And welcome to the Gazette.”

I watched him walk away before turning back to the folder. For a long moment, I just stared at it, letting the faint hum of the office settle over me. The assignment was straightforward—an overview of the upcoming Summer Festival, complete with quotes from vendors and a bit of local history. I scanned the notes George had included in the folder. A couple of names were jotted down—business owners, event organizers, and a few community leaders who’d apparently been involved with the festival for years. Easy enough.

With a sigh, I pushed back from my desk and glanced around the room. A handful of people were at their stations, absorbed in their work. Across the room, a young woman with a messy bun and glasses perched on the bridge of her nose glanced up and caught my eye. She grinned and waved me over.

I hesitated but crossed the room anyway, tucking the folder under my arm. She didn’t wait for me to speak.

“You’re the new girl,” she said cheerfully, twirling a pen between her fingers. “I’m Tessa—designated nosy reporter and unofficial town encyclopedia. Need to know who’s married, divorced, or secretly hates their neighbour? I’m your girl.”

I couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Elena Parker. And thanks for the offer. I might take you up on that.”

“Oh, you’ll need it,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Alana runs on gossip. It’s, like, our second economy.” She paused, tilting her head slightly as she studied me. Her smile was easy, but her eyes were sharp. “People have been buzzing since they heard you were coming back.”

“Buzzing?” I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.

“Mm-hmm,” she said, dragging out the hum as she leaned back in her chair. “You know how small towns are. Someone leaves, they’re gone for years, then suddenly they’re back? People start wondering why. They’ll be watching you, just so you know.”

I managed a polite smile, brushing off the comment. “Well, they’ll just have to settle for me being boring and predictable”.

Tessa raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “If you say so. But let me know if you want the town’s top ten juiciest rumours.” She grinned. “Welcome to the Gazette.”

CHAPTER TWO

The hours slipped by in a haze of research and notes. I spent most of the day on the phone with vendors and committee members, piecing together quotes about how the festival was “a celebration of community” and “a treasured tradition.” It was the kind of fluff piece I could write in my sleep, but it kept my mind occupied. For the first time in a while, I was too busy to think about... anything else.

By the time I glanced at the clock, it was already past five. The office had quieted, desks empty except for the faint clatter of keyboards from the far corner where Tessa and a scruffy-looking man—Jake, if I remembered correctly—were still working. I stretched, rubbing the back of my neck, and gathered my things.

As I stepped outside, the evening air was cooler, the sunlight fading into hues of pink and gold. Main Street was quieter now, the rhythm of the day winding down. A couple of teenagers leaned against their bikes near the fountain, chatting in low voices, and Mrs. Mendez was locking up her flower shop, her apron folded neatly under her arm.

As I walked toward my car, the evening light painted Alana in soft, forgiving hues. The salt air carried with it a strange comfort, like an old song I couldn’t quite remember the words to. My hand lingered on the car door for a moment as I glanced back at Main Street. It looked so peaceful, almost idyllic—exactly how I remembered it.

But then, my eyes caught on something—or someone. A figure leaning casually against the bench outside the old thrift shop, their face half-hidden in shadow. I froze, my pulse quickening.

No. It couldn’t be.

The figure straightened, tipping their head as if noticing my hesitation, and then stepped forward into the light. Relief swept through me like a tide—it wasn’t who I thought it was. Just a stranger with a similar build. Still, my legs felt shaky as I slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door with a soft click.

After I had settled down and calmed my nerves, I brushed it off. I told myself I must have been tired from the day’s work. With that thought, I drove back as if nothing had happened. The drive wasn’t long, and soon I was pulling into Aunt Liz’s driveway. I stepped out of the car, the gravel crunching under my feet, and made my way to the front door.

The familiar scent of lemon and herbs greeted me as I walked inside. Aunt Liz’s voice called out from the kitchen. “You’re back! So, how was your first day at work?”

“It was good,” I said as I made my way toward her. I meant it, too. I’d really enjoyed working on the report I was given; it felt like a great way to get reacquainted with the town.

Aunt Liz gave me a warm smile, her sharp eyes briefly scanning my face, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she motioned toward the dining area. “Dinner’s ready. Go ahead and get settled.”

I followed her into the dining room, where the table was already set with mismatched plates and a small vase of fresh flowers at its center. The cozy, familiar sight helped melt away the remnants of my earlier unease.

We sat down, and over dinner, we made small talk. I told her about the Summer Festival piece I was working on, describing the cheerful vendors I’d spoken with and how writing the article gave me a chance to explore the town again. Aunt Liz listened attentively, nodding along as she sipped her tea.

“That’s a good assignment to start with,” she said. “The festival’s a big deal around here. It’s the kind of thing that gets everyone talking.”

I smiled, feeling a little more at ease. After dinner, I helped clear the table, but Aunt Liz waved me off when I tried to help with the dishes. “Go on,” she said, her tone kind but firm. “You’ve had a long day—you should get some rest.”

“Thanks, Aunt Liz,” I replied, grateful for her understanding. I kissed her cheek and headed upstairs to my room.

Once there, I changed into my pajamas and climbed into bed, the quiet hum of the house settling around me. I told myself again that the strange moment outside the thrift shop was nothing—just the tricks of a tired mind. But as I stared at the ceiling in the dim light, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling of being watched.

Eventually, the sound of crickets chirping outside my window lulled me to sleep, but even then, the shadow of unease followed me into my dreams.

The next morning, I arrived at the Gazette just after eight. The office was already buzzing with activity—the hum of printers, the clatter of keyboards, and the low murmur of conversation creating a comforting rhythm. The familiar smell of coffee and old paper hung in the air, and I found myself smiling. Somehow, it was quickly becoming my favorite part of being back in Alana. Nostalgic, yet chaotic enough to feel alive.

Tessa was at her desk, leaning back in her chair at a dangerous angle, a pen tucked behind her ear and a half-empty mug of coffee balanced precariously on her knee. She glanced up when I walked in and grinned like she’d been waiting for this moment.

“Morning, superstar,” she said, dragging the word out for dramatic flair. “You ready to dive back into the glamorous, high-octane world of local reporting?”

“Absolutely,” I said with a laugh, setting my bag down by my desk. “I live for the adrenaline.”

Tessa leaned forward and gestured grandly to the chaos on her desk—papers stacked haphazardly, sticky notes clinging to her monitor like leaves on a windblown tree. “I mean, just look at this. A scandalous exposé on the town’s pothole epidemic and a breaking story about the library book sale. Pulitzer material, right here.”

“Truly groundbreaking,” I said, logging into my computer. “How are you managing all this without a personal assistant?”

She sighed dramatically, clutching her pen like a damsel in distress. “Oh, the burden of excellence, Elena. No one understands.”

I shook my head, biting back a grin. “Let me know if you need me to proofread your hard-hitting pothole coverage.”

She spun her chair to face me, her grin softening into something more curious. “So, how’s your festival piece coming along? I saw your photos yesterday—nice work, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “The article’s mostly done, but George wants me to flesh it out with a few more interviews. I figured I’d head out today and talk to some of the vendors and organizers.”

“Well, lucky for you,” Tessa said, leaping to her feet like she’d been waiting for this moment, “I happen to be an expert in all things festival-related. Booths, banners, baked goods—I’m your gal. Mind if I tag along? I could use an excuse to escape the thrilling life of desk work.”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “What about the potholes? Won’t the town riot if you don’t solve that crisis?”

Tessa waved me off. “Please. If Alana’s roads haven’t crumbled by now, they’ll survive another day. Besides,” she added, grabbing her bag with a flourish, “this is a prime opportunity for you to witness my people skills in action. The vendors love me. I’m practically the Festival Queen.”

“You just want an excuse to chat with people and eat free samples, don’t you?”

Tessa gasped, placing a hand on her chest like I’d insulted her honor. “I am offended by the accusation. But also, yes. Let’s roll.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I grabbed my notebook and camera. Tessa had a way of making everything feel lighter, even when my thoughts wanted to drag me down.

“Alright, Festival Queen,” I said as we headed toward the door. “Lead the way.”

We stepped out onto Main Street together, the late-morning sun casting a golden glow over the town. The streets were already bustling with activity, vendors setting up stalls and hanging decorations in preparation for the festival. The air smelled faintly of sugar and saltwater, a mix that made Alana feel both nostalgic and alive.

CHAPTER THREE

“So, who’s on your list today?” Tessa asked as we strolled down the sidewalk.

“I was thinking of starting with the event organizers,” I said, pulling out my notebook. “Then maybe checking in with some of the vendors setting up in Old Town.”

“Perfect,” Tessa said. “The festival committee usually camps out at the community center this time of year. We’ll start there. They love having an audience.”

As we made our way toward the community center, we passed groups of volunteers decorating the town square. A pair of teenagers were struggling to hang a banner across the entrance to the park, while a cheerful older woman was arranging flowers on the fountain. Everyone seemed to be in high spirits, the buzz of the festival bringing a sense of energy to the town.

When we arrived at the community center, the large hall inside was a flurry of activity. Long tables were covered in paperwork, coffee cups, and fabric swatches, while a group of people huddled around a large whiteboard covered in festival plans.

Tessa led the way, weaving through the chaos with the ease of someone who had done this a dozen times before. She introduced me to a few of the committee members—a mix of chatty retirees and stressed-out middle-aged volunteers—all of whom were happy to talk about their roles in the festival.

As I interviewed them, jotting down notes about the history of the event and this year’s new additions, Tessa wandered off to chat with someone she knew. By the time I finished, she was waiting for me near the door, her arms crossed and a mischievous grin on her face.

“Ready for the next stop?” she asked, pushing off the doorframe with a bounce in her step.

“Let me guess,” I said, tucking my notebook into my bag. “More chaos?”

“Of course,” Tessa replied. “The festival thrives on chaos. It’s, like, eighty percent of the charm.”

I laughed as we stepped outside, the sunlight momentarily blinding me after the dim buzz of the community center. “Alright, Festival Queen. Where to next?”

“Old Town,” she said, leading the way down the sidewalk. “That’s where the real action is. You’ll love it—vendors yelling, people arguing about where to hang streamers, someone inevitably burning something in a food stall. It’s a mess.”

“Sounds... delightful,” I said dryly, though her excitement was infectious.

As we walked, I noticed how the town seemed to pulse with energy. People bustled in and out of shops, arms full of supplies, while kids darted around carrying bundles of ribbon and balloons. Every few feet, someone stopped Tessa to chat—whether it was a friendly “Hey, Tessa!” or a quick exchange of gossip. She greeted everyone with ease, her confidence radiating outward like she’d been made for this.

“You’re like the mayor of Alana,” I said as we turned onto one of the narrower side streets leading toward Old Town. “How do you know everyone?”

“I don’t know everyone,” Tessa said, though her smirk betrayed her. “I just know most people worth knowing.”

“Right. Modest as always.”

“Hey, small towns run on connections,” she said, shrugging. “Knowing people is like having a VIP pass to life around here. You’ll see. Give it a month, and they’ll be asking you what’s new with so-and-so’s cousin’s dog.”

I rolled my eyes, but the idea of being that connected to the town felt... oddly nice. Like maybe I could belong here again.

Old Town was alive with movement when we arrived. The cobblestone streets were lined with stalls and tables, half-built displays, and piles of crates waiting to be unpacked. Vendors called to each other across the square, their voices mingling with the sounds of hammers tapping and wheels squeaking as carts rolled by.

The smells hit me first—fresh bread, roasted nuts, the tang of citrus from somewhere nearby. It was intoxicating and nostalgic all at once, like a sensory overload of everything that made small-town festivals magical.

Tessa was already in her element, pointing out various stalls like a tour guide. “That’s Mrs. Navin’s bakery booth she’s famous for her lemon squares. Over there’s the crafts section. Oh, and don’t miss the candle lady her lavender soy wax is life-changing.”

I nodded along, taking it all in as I jotted down notes about the setup. The energy was infectious, and I couldn’t help but smile as a vendor waved me over to sample a slice of spiced apple bread. I thanked him, scribbling a quick quote about his excitement for the festival and his booth’s history.

“See?” Tessa said, popping up at my side. “This is why festivals are the best. Free food and endless material. You’re killing it.”

“Thanks, Festival Queen,” I said, grinning.

As we moved further into the market, we reached a row of vendors setting up specialty booths—handmade jewellery, fresh produce, and hand-carved wooden figurines. My attention was drawn to a man helping one of the vendors with her setup. He was tall, with sandy brown hair and a relaxed confidence that made him stand out in the crowd. He held a roll of twine in one hand as he gestured to the vendor, who was nodding along.

“That’s Daniel Allan,” Tessa said, noticing my glance. Her tone was a little quieter, more thoughtful than usual. “Real estate agent. Came back to Alana a couple of years ago. Nice guy. Keeps to himself a little.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Keeps to himself, but you know him?”

“Of course I do,” Tessa said, rolling her eyes. “Like I said, I know everyone worth knowing.”

The man turned as if sensing he was being talked about, his eyes scanning the square until they landed on me. For a second, his expression shifted like he was trying to place me but then he smiled politely and made his way over.

“You must be Elena Parker,” he said, extending a hand. His voice was smooth, warm, and confident without being overbearing.

“That’s me,” I said, shaking his hand. His grip was firm but not overly so. “And you’re... Daniel?”

“Daniel Allan,” he said, nodding. “Welcome back to Alana. I’ve heard you’re working on the festival piece for the Gazette.”

“Word travels fast,” I said, though I wasn’t surprised.

“In Alana? Always,” he said with a small chuckle. “It’s good to see the Gazette covering the festival. It’s an important part of the town, you know?”

“Definitely,” I said, feeling the faintest hint of nervousness under his steady gaze. There was something about him that felt... hard to read. Polite and professional, but distant. Like there was a wall he wasn’t letting anyone see past. “Are you helping out with the festival?”

“Not officially,” he said, glancing back toward the stall he’d been working on. “But I know a lot of the vendors. I lend a hand where I can.”

“Daniel’s basically the unofficial town problem-solver,” Tessa interjected with a grin. “If something breaks, he fixes it. If someone’s stressed, he talks them down. He’s like a Swiss Army knife of competence.”

Daniel chuckled, a faint flush creeping into his cheeks. “Tessa likes to exaggerate.”

“She does,” I said, smiling. “But it seems like she’s right about you being helpful.”

“I try,” he said simply, his gaze flicking between me and Tessa. “Anyway, I won’t keep you. Good luck with your article, Elena. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”

“Thanks,” I said, watching as he turned and walked back toward the stall.

As we moved on, I couldn’t shake the sense that there was more to Daniel than he let on. Something about the way he carried himself, how deliberate his words were... It felt like he was weighing every interaction, even the small ones. Tessa’s voice broke through my thoughts.

“So, what do you think?” she asked, giving me a sly grin.

“About Daniel?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah. He’s interesting, right? Kind of mysterious.”

“Mysterious, huh?”

Tessa nodded. “Yep. And in a small town like this, that makes him either incredibly boring... or hiding something juicy.”

I laughed, though her words stuck with me as we moved on to the next stall.

CHAPTER FOUR

We continued interviewing people throughout the afternoon, Tessa making everything easier with her natural charisma and ability to turn even the grumpiest vendor into a chatty storyteller. By the time we wrapped up, I had pages of notes and enough material to fill the article twice over. My bag felt heavier with the weight of it, but it was the good kind of heavy the kind that meant I’d accomplished what I set out to do.

Tessa leaned against her car as we said our goodbyes, sipping from a bottle of lemonade she’d somehow scored on our way out of the market. “Not bad for your first real festival tour,” she said. “You handled it like a pro.”

“Thanks,” I said, adjusting the strap of my bag. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Oh, I know,” she said with a grin. “You would’ve been eaten alive without my dazzling people skills. But hey, that’s what sidekicks are for.”

I rolled my eyes, laughing. “Sidekick? Pretty sure you spent more time sampling fudge than actually helping.”

“Hey, my fudge-sampling expertise set the tone for the interviews. It’s all part of the process.” She winked before climbing into her car. “Anyway, go write your masterpiece. And don’t forget festival chaos waits for no one. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As I drove home, I let the quiet hum of the car settle over me, reflecting on the day. It had been busy, sure, but in a good way. For the first time since I came back to Alana, I felt... almost at ease. Like maybe, just maybe, this place could grow on me if I gave it the chance.

Dinner with Aunt Liz was a simple, comforting affair—grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and her signature iced tea. She asked about my day, listening attentively as I shared stories of the people I’d met. Her smile was soft and knowing, and I could tell she was happy to see me settling in, even if I wasn’t ready to admit it out loud yet. Afterwards, I helped her clear the table before retreating to my room for the night.

The next morning, I arrived at the Gazette earlier than usual, the sun barely peeking over the rooftops as I unlocked the office door. The air smelled faintly of dew and coffee as I stepped inside, the quiet stillness of the building wrapping around me like a blanket.

I wanted to finish the final edits before the rest of the office arrived—it was easier to focus without the background noise of printers, phones, and Tessa’s endless commentary. Sitting at my desk, I opened my laptop and began refining the article. I trimmed unnecessary lines, tightened quotes, and added just enough vivid detail to make the story come alive. The hours slipped by unnoticed as I slipped into the rhythm of the work.

Eventually, the office began to stir to life. The sound of the front door opening, the faint clatter of keys, and Tessa’s unmistakable voice pulled me from my concentration. She entered the room like a gust of wind, balancing a coffee in one hand and her phone in the other. When her eyes landed on me, her face lit up with surprise.

“Well, well, look who decided to join the sunrise club,” she teased, setting her bag down with a dramatic flourish. “Did I miss a memo? Or are you trying to make the rest of us look bad?”

“I had edits to finish,” I said, glancing up from my laptop. “It’s easier to work when it’s quiet.”

Tessa raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Noted. I’ll make sure to cause extra distractions from now on.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “I’m sure you will.”

A couple of hours later, I finished the article, satisfied with its outcome, and walked it over to George. He skimmed it, pencil in hand, scratching a few notes in the margins before leaning back in his chair and giving me a nod of approval.

“Good work, Elena,” he said simply. “We’ll run this on the front page tomorrow. It’s clean, thorough, and it captures the spirit of the festival. Nicely done.”

I exhaled, a flicker of pride warming my chest. “Thanks, George.”

He gave me a small nod of approval before adding, “Take it easy for a day or two. I’ll have your next assignment ready after the festival wraps up. In the meantime, get to know the town. It’ll make your research a lot easier when the time comes.”

“Will do,” I said, standing up.

As I left his office, I couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t just that the article was going on the front page—it was the sense of accomplishment that came with finishing something I was proud of. For the first time since coming back to Alana, I felt like I was finding my place.

The hammer felt awkward in my hand as I secured the last nail in the booth frame. Around me, the park buzzed with activity: the clatter of folding chairs, the hum of chatter, bursts of laughter from kids running underfoot. A slight breeze carried the smell of grass and sawdust, along with the faint aroma of fresh lemonade from Mrs. Navin’s bakery stall.

“Daniel!”

I looked up to see Mr. Harres struggling with a long wooden beam, his face red as he waved me over.

“Can you give me a hand with this?”

“Yeah, sure.” I set the hammer down and jogged over, taking the heavier end of the beam as we maneuvered it into place.

“Thanks, son,” he said with a sigh of relief once it clicked into position. He clapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t know what we’d do without you young folks helping out. You’ve been a real lifesaver this week.”

“Happy to help,” I said, brushing sawdust off my hands.

He smiled and moved on, leaving me alone with the half-finished booth. I leaned against it for a moment, letting the noise of the festival preparations wash over me.

Two years. That’s how long it had been since I came back to Alana. And sometimes, it still felt like I was on the outside looking in.

Before this, my life had been all skyscrapers and deadlines—fast-paced, efficient, and predictable. I worked for a big real estate agency in the city, the kind of place where people measured success by the size of their paycheck and how little time they spent at home. And for a while, I was good at it. I played the game, chased the promotions, and checked all the boxes.

But somewhere along the way, it stopped being enough.

At first, it was just a vague restlessness, a sense that I was running in place. Then it got worse. I’d wake up at three in the morning, staring at the ceiling of my high-rise apartment, wondering what the hell I was doing. Promotions didn’t excite me anymore. The money didn’t matter. Even the view from my office window—once a symbol of everything I’d worked for—started to feel suffocating.

I told myself it was burnout. Everyone said it was normal to feel that way after a few years in the grind. “Take a break,” they told me. “You just need to reset.”

But no amount of time off could shake the feeling that something was missing. Or maybe, deep down, I knew exactly what it was.

My cousin.

I hadn’t thought about him in years—not consciously, at least. But lately, he’d been creeping into the edges of my thoughts, showing up in the quiet moments I tried so hard to avoid. Some nights, I’d sit in my apartment with the TV on, the volume low, and wonder if things would’ve been different if I’d been there that night.

It had been almost ten years since his death, but the questions never went away. What really happened? Why didn’t I see the signs? Could I have stopped it?

When the official report came back, they called it suicide. Everyone did. But I never believed it. Not completely.

I shook the thought off and reached for a water bottle, taking a long sip.

Alana wasn’t just a fresh start. It was an escape. I didn’t tell anyone the full story—not my boss, not my friends, not even myself most days. I framed my decision to leave the city as noble: a chance to build my own business, to slow down, to find balance. And maybe part of that was true. But the other part? The part I didn’t like to admit?

I came back because I didn’t know how to live with the questions anymore.

“Daniel!”

Mrs. Navin’s voice jolted me from my thoughts. She was standing by her bakery stall, waving at me with her usual warmth. “Can you help me with these boxes, dear? They’re heavier than they look!”

“On it,” I said, forcing a smile as I walked over.

The scent of sugar and lemon hit me as I lifted the first box, carrying it to the table she pointed to.

“You’ve been such a help these past few days,” she said, patting my arm. “It’s good to see you back in Alana, you know. Really good.”

“Thanks,” I said simply, though her words lingered longer than I expected.

Settling back in. It sounded so easy, like all you had to do was plant yourself here and let the town do the rest. But no matter how many hands I shook or favors I returned, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I didn’t really belong. Not anymore.

As I turned back toward the booth I’d been working on, my eyes caught on a familiar figure in the distance. Elena Parker was standing near the craft tents, her notepad tucked under her arm, her head tilted as she spoke to one of the vendors.

I hadn’t thought about Elena in years—not since we were kids. But seeing her now stirred something in me. It wasn’t just recognition. It was a memory, sharp and unwelcome.

The night of the festival. Ten years ago.