The evening arrived slowly, wrapped in the kind of golden light that makes everything look softer, warmer, almost like a painting. She sat at the edge of the bed, brushing her hair nervously, while Theo leaned against the doorway with that calm, reassuring smile of his.
"You'll love it," he said softly, watching her fingers fidget with the edge of her dress. "It's not some fancy city ball. It's just a village party. Everyone's warm and friendly. And… they make the best food you've ever tasted."
She gave him a skeptical look. "You say that about everything you bring me to taste."
"Because it's true," he chuckled, stepping closer to fix a loose strand of her hair. "Trust me. Tonight's special. It's the harvest celebration."
The drive out to the village was peaceful. Fields stretched on both sides of the road, painted in deep amber and soft green under the setting sun. The sky melted into orange and pink as they arrived. Lanterns were strung from tree to tree, glowing softly like captured stars. People laughed, music drifted through the air, and the whole place smelled like roasted bread, spices, and something sweet she couldn't name.
Her steps were hesitant at first as they entered the crowd, but Theo's hand in hers was warm, steady. "You're safe," he whispered, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. "Just breathe and enjoy."
They made their way to a long wooden table covered in food. Villagers moved around them with friendly smiles and open hearts, greeting Theo like an old friend. Someone handed her a small clay plate, and Theo pointed toward a dish made of roasted vegetables and soft, golden bread. "Try this," he said with a grin. "It's a local favorite. My grandmother used to make it for every festival."
She took a small bite—warm, slightly smoky, with a hint of herbs that melted on her tongue. "Oh," she whispered, surprised by the burst of flavor.
"Good?"
She nodded, laughing softly. "More than good. This is… incredible."
They moved from table to table, tasting things she had never eaten before—crispy pastries filled with creamy cheese, spiced fruit slices cooked over open flame, honey-dipped nuts that melted slowly in her mouth. She felt light, almost giddy. For the first time in a long time, she wasn't just surviving; she was living.
A group of musicians started playing near the central fire—fiddles, drums, and a flute that danced through the air like a bird. People gathered, clapping in rhythm, spinning in small circles as the music grew livelier. Theo nudged her gently. "Come on."
She froze a little. "Dance? I—I don't dance well."
He tilted his head, a warm smile on his lips. "Then we'll just be two people not dancing well together."
The warmth of his hand wrapped around hers, and before she could overthink, he led her toward the flickering firelight. The ground was soft beneath her shoes, the music faster than her heartbeat. She stumbled once, but Theo steadied her easily, laughing—not at her, but with her.
"See?" he said, guiding her step by step. "It's just moving. No rules. Just feel it."
Slowly, something inside her loosened. The fear, the tension, the weight of old memories—just a little of it melted away in the music. She let herself move with him, even spin once, her dress catching the firelight. People around them cheered, some joining hands, turning it into a spinning, laughing circle of strangers who felt like family for a night.
When the song slowed, Theo kept his hand on the small of her back, their foreheads brushing softly. She could smell the faint scent of smoke, bread, and his skin. Her heart wasn't racing from panic this time—it was alive.
They sat down afterward, cheeks flushed, breathing fast. She leaned into him, letting the sound of laughter and music fill the spaces that once belonged to silence and pain.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"For what?" he asked, brushing his thumb over her hand.
"For bringing me here. For giving me something good to remember."
Theo kissed her forehead gently. "Get used to it," he murmured against her skin. "There will be a lot more good memories from now on. You deserve them."
As the night deepened, the stars blinked awake overhead, and the lanterns swayed gently in the breeze. She watched children running, couples dancing, friends sharing food, and for the first time, she felt like she belonged somewhere—not because she had to, but because she chose to.
She took another bite of the sweet pastry in her hand, laughing softly as Theo stole half of it.
Maybe this was what it felt like to be free—not just alone, but alive with someone who saw her, not her past.
The music still floated through the air, and the glow of the lanterns painted everything in gold. She sat down near the edge of the crowd, catching her breath after dancing, a warm drink cradled between her hands. Theo had gone to fetch her another plate of something sweet, so for a moment, she was alone.
The laughter around her was bright, easy — but something in the way the air shifted made her heartbeat change. She lifted her head slowly. A group of older women sat on a nearby bench, whispering to one another. When her gaze met theirs, they didn't look away. Their eyes followed her, steady, curious.
A man passing with his son glanced at her, too — not unkindly, just a flicker of recognition, like someone trying to place a familiar face. Then another person turned. And another.
Her stomach tightened.
Am I imagining this? she thought, her fingers tightening around the warm clay cup. No… no, I can feel it. They're looking.
She tried to calm herself, tried to remind her mind that this was just a village festival, that strangers looked at newcomers. But the old reflex — the quiet, cold ripple of fear that came from her past — crawled up her spine like a shadow.
One of the women approached her, smiling politely. "Hello, dear," she said in a soft voice. "I've seen you with Theo. You must be the one he always talks about. Welcome."
Another followed, greeting her, asking her name, where she came from. They weren't rude or threatening. Their smiles were genuine. Yet, every time their eyes lingered on her face, it made her pulse quicken, as if the ground beneath her wasn't entirely steady.
She forced a small smile, answered politely, even laughed once — but the feeling didn't go away. The sense of being watched pressed down on her chest like a weight she couldn't quite shake off.
When Theo returned, carrying two plates stacked with honey pastries, he noticed the stiffness in her shoulders immediately. His brow furrowed. "Hey," he said gently, crouching beside her. "What happened?"
She lowered her voice, leaning closer to him. "They're… looking at me. All of them. I know it sounds crazy but—" she stopped herself, biting the inside of her cheek.
He glanced around. People were indeed glancing in their direction, curious about the unfamiliar woman by his side. But to him, it was nothing unusual; in a small village, a new face always drew attention.
"They're just curious," he whispered. "You're new here. They probably heard things about me — and now they see you with me. That's all."
But the unease in her chest didn't ease. She swallowed, her fingers tightening around his sleeve. "I don't like it," she admitted, her voice almost breaking. "It feels like they're trying to see inside me. Like they already know something I don't."
Theo set the plates down and gently took her hand. "Then we leave," he said simply, with no questions, no pressure.
She looked at him, surprised. "Just like that?"
"Of course," he said softly. "You're more important than the party."
And just like that, she exhaled. He helped her up, and they walked toward the car together. People still greeted them on the way out, some smiling, some just watching silently — but with every step away from the lanterns, she felt the knot in her chest loosen.
The cool night air outside the village was quiet, almost protective. The stars stretched above like distant guardians, and the noise of the festival faded behind them.
In the car, she leaned her forehead against the window and whispered, "Thank you."
Theo started the engine, his hand resting lightly on her knee. "You don't have to explain anything," he said gently. "When you feel uncomfortable, we leave. That's it."
As the road opened ahead of them, she finally breathed deeply again. The unease didn't disappear completely — it lingered, like a small shadow — but there was warmth beside her now, and that warmth made all the difference.