Autumn Between Us

The candlelight leaned toward her when she laughed. Outside, the trees stood bare against a fading sky, but inside the air was full — of warmth, of stories, of the quiet language two people speak when the world slows down.

The plates were simple, the wine generous. The chef had left hours ago, but the scent of thyme still lingered, a ghost of his fire. We didn’t talk about time. We just listened — to the wind outside, the silver clink of cutlery, the shared pulse of a fleeting season.

Stay where moments ripen like autumn — slow, golden, and alive between two breaths.