Echoes of Lavender Light

The rain tasted like lavender tonight, or perhaps that’s just the lingering scent of his sweater clinging to my scarf.
I watched him across the coffee shop—a blur of movement in the golden light—ordering another latte. Simple things, really. The way he always chose almond milk, how a strand of hair often fell across his forehead… little echoes against the quiet hum of our lives.
We’d known each other forever, orbiting one another like two moons. Then winter came, and with it, a slow thaw—a gentle yielding.
He noticed my favorite book on the table, marked to page 127, a dog-eared passage about finding home in unexpected places. He smiled then – not a grand gesture, just the curve of his lip that always felt like sunlight after rain.
Healing isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it's just a quiet cup of coffee, shared across blurred city lights, and knowing someone sees you there, complete with all your little edges.

Editor: Floating Muse