It was a gray morning in Ans, Belgium, when Delphine stepped off the bus and felt the soft drizzle of rain mist her face. The cobbled streets of the town, old and weathered from centuries of footsteps, glistened like a secret, the faint scent of wet stone and fresh earth filling the air. The town of Ans, with its ancient charm and quiet beauty, seemed untouched by time, even as the modern world pulsed just outside its borders. The history of this place ran deep—its roots tied to the Middle Ages, with remnants of the old castle, Château de Ans, still standing proudly above the town, and the surrounding forests whispering tales of warriors, kings, and forgotten lovers. But it was a history Delphine had long since outgrown, a history of small lives in a small town. Or so she thought, until today.
Delphine was not like most people from Ans. She had an air of wisdom that belied her age, a stillness that made her seem older than her twenty-five years. Her mother had raised her in the quietude of the town, teaching her to appreciate the beauty of simplicity, to seek peace in the every day. But Delphine’s heart was restless. She craved something more. She’d left Ans for a time, traveled, seen the world. But now, after a long absence, she found herself returning, uncertain of what awaited her.
As she crossed the Place du Marché, she glanced at the familiar brick buildings, their facades painted in shades of pale ochre and muted cream. The town square was almost deserted, save for an elderly couple who walked arm in arm, their steps slow but synchronized, as if their lives had been one long rhythm. Delphine paused to take in the scene. There was something timeless about Ans, something that drew people in and held them, even when they tried to leave.
It was then that she saw him.
He stood by the fountain, leaning against the stone wall, his gaze fixed on something in the distance. His posture was relaxed, but there was an intensity to him that made him stand out. He was not from Ans, that much was obvious. His hair, dark and tousled, was unkempt in a way that suggested he had just rolled out of bed—or perhaps he didn’t care enough to bother. His clothes, worn and faded, were not the typical attire of a man in this town. His eyes, a striking shade of green, seemed to carry a weight, a sadness even, that echoed the dull sky above them.
Delphine’s eyes lingered on him longer than she intended, and in that moment, their gazes met. For a brief, inexplicable second, she felt a pull, something deep and ancient, like the earth had shifted beneath her feet. He didn’t smile, nor did he look away. There was no awkwardness in the meeting, no discomfort. It was as if they had both been waiting for this exact moment to unfold.
He was the first to break the silence.
“Do you know the story of the fountain?” he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.
Delphine tilted her head slightly, intrigued. “The fountain?”
“Yes. The one we’re standing by.”
She glanced at the stone structure behind them, the water trickling gently from the spout, the moss growing thick along its sides. “No. I don’t know it. Do you?”
He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “It’s said that if two strangers meet here and share a secret, they’ll find something they’ve been searching for.” He paused, as if measuring her reaction. “I’m not sure I believe in it, but I thought you might.”
Delphine felt a shiver run through her, the air suddenly heavy with the weight of his words. There was something almost prophetic in his tone, something that made her question her impulse to walk away, to retreat into the solitude she so often craved. But she stayed.
“I’m not sure I believe in it either,” she replied, her voice soft but steady. “But I’m curious. What is it that you’re searching for?”
He hesitated, then glanced at her, as if considering how much to reveal. “I’m searching for something I lost a long time ago. Something I didn’t realize I needed until it was too late.”
Delphine didn’t press him for more details. There was something about him—his guardedness, his quiet sorrow—that made her reluctant to ask any more questions. Instead, she offered him a faint smile, one that carried both empathy and understanding.
“And what about you?” he asked, his voice suddenly tinged with curiosity. “What are you searching for?”
Delphine thought for a moment. She wasn’t sure what to say, what words could possibly encompass the depths of her own longings, the fragments of herself she had left scattered across the world. But then she spoke, her voice steady despite the emotions rising inside her.
“I’m searching for peace. For a place where I can feel whole again.”
The words hung in the air between them, their shared vulnerability creating a bond, fragile yet undeniable.
“I don’t think peace is something you find,” he said quietly. “I think it’s something you have to make for yourself. Or something that finds you when you least expect it.”
Delphine met his gaze again, this time with a hint of something deeper—something she hadn’t expected to feel. There was a truth in his words, a recognition that settled in her chest.
“I think you’re right,” she said, her voice a whisper now. “Maybe it’s not about searching. Maybe it’s about letting go.”
The words seemed to reverberate between them, and for a brief moment, it felt as though time had slowed down, the world around them fading into the background. In that space, it was just the two of them, standing by the fountain in Ans, connected by something intangible, something neither could explain.
Before she could say anything else, he spoke again, his voice laced with something like resignation.
“I have to go,” he said, taking a step back. “But maybe we’ll meet again. Maybe the fountain was right after all.”
Delphine watched as he turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the mist of the morning. She stood there for a long time, the cool water of the fountain lapping against the stone, the weight of their brief encounter settling deep within her. There was something about him, something she couldn’t quite place, but she knew—deep down—that it wasn’t the end of their story.
And perhaps, she thought, it wasn’t meant to be.
The days following their meeting by the fountain in Ans seemed to stretch on endlessly for Delphine. The town felt as though it had become a tapestry woven with invisible threads, each one pulling her back to that brief moment, that fleeting encounter. She returned to the rhythms of her life, the quiet hum of the town’s daily bustle—the soft chatter of the market vendors, the distant clink of church bells, the steady passing of the seasons. But no matter where she went, his eyes lingered in the back of her mind, like a soft echo that refused to fade.
She found herself wandering the streets of Ans more often, hoping to bump into him once more, though she tried not to admit it even to herself. She had never been one to chase after things, especially not the fleeting moments of chance that life occasionally threw her way. But there was something in him, something she hadn’t been able to shake. His words, his sadness, and the strange sense of connection she had felt—all of it gnawed at her heart, pulling her in a direction she hadn’t planned on going.
It was on one of these aimless walks, as the leaves were just beginning to turn their autumn colors, when she saw him again.
He was sitting at a small café near the edge of the town square, a cup of coffee in front of him, his gaze focused on the streets as if lost in thought. Delphine stood at a distance for a moment, watching him, unsure of what to do. She had convinced herself that their meeting had been an anomaly, a brief intersection of two lives that would never truly connect. But seeing him now, in the familiar surroundings of the town, felt like fate had intervened once again.
She hesitated for only a moment before walking over to him.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked, her voice steady but with a hint of the nervousness she hadn’t expected to feel.
He looked up, surprised but not startled. His green eyes softened as they met hers, the flicker of recognition instant. He smiled, though it was a small, quiet thing, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Please,” he said, motioning to the empty chair across from him. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”
Delphine sat down, unsure of what to say next. The silence between them stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. There was a kind of unspoken understanding that lingered in the air, a shared history of a single, fleeting moment by the fountain.
“I thought you might be gone by now,” Delphine said, her voice quieter than usual.
“I was,” he admitted. “But something brought me back. Maybe it’s the town, or maybe… maybe it’s something else.” He paused, his gaze turning inward for a moment. “I wasn’t sure if I was ready to leave yet.”
Delphine nodded, her heart pounding a little faster. She could feel the weight of his words, and the unspoken story that lay behind them. He had spoken of something lost, something he hadn’t been able to find. But in that moment, Delphine realized that perhaps they were both searching for something, in different ways, in different parts of themselves. And maybe, just maybe, their paths had crossed for a reason.
“What is it that you’re looking for?” she asked, her curiosity breaking through the walls she had built around herself.
He looked at her, his gaze intense, almost as if weighing whether to open up. For a long time, he said nothing. But when he finally spoke, his voice was raw, as though he were revealing something he had buried deep.
“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I’ve spent years running from it, whatever it is. I’ve been to different countries, different cities. I’ve tried to escape, tried to forget. But no matter where I go, it always follows me.” He leaned forward, his fingers wrapping around the coffee cup as if it were the only thing grounding him. “I’ve lost so much in the process. I’ve hurt people. I’ve hurt myself. And now… I don’t know where to go from here.”
Delphine listened, her heart aching for him. His words carried a weight that felt familiar, like something she had once carried herself. The pain of losing something—someone—and not knowing how to heal from it. It was a feeling she had run from for years, hiding in her travels, in the quiet solitude of her life. But something about him—his honesty, his vulnerability—made her feel seen in a way no one had before.
“I understand,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s hard, isn’t it? To keep moving forward when you’re not sure where you’re going or what you’re running from.”
He looked at her, his eyes softening, almost as if seeing her for the first time. There was a flicker of recognition, something that passed between them, like a spark catching fire.
“You’ve been running too,” he said quietly.
Delphine didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she let the silence hang between them, acknowledging the truth in his words. She had been running for so long, from her past, from the weight of her family’s expectations, from the unknown future that always loomed ahead. But maybe, just maybe, this was the place where she could stop running. Maybe this was the place where she could finally let herself breathe.
“I think we both are,” she said, her voice steady now, the certainty in her words surprising even herself. “But maybe we don’t have to run anymore.”
His gaze softened as he took in her words. There was something different in the way he looked at her now—something that held a kind of quiet hope. But there was also fear, the kind that lurked in the corners of the heart, afraid to trust, afraid to hope.
“I don’t know how to stop,” he said, almost to himself. “I don’t know how to stay.”
Delphine reached across the table, her hand brushing against his. The contact was brief, but in that touch, there was something unspoken, something profound. It was a gesture of understanding, of offering something she hadn’t allowed herself to offer in years.
“Maybe it’s not about stopping or staying,” she said softly. “Maybe it’s about letting things unfold the way they’re meant to.”
His fingers curled slightly around hers, the warmth of his touch steadying her. For the first time since they had met, there was no tension between them, no barrier. It was as if they had both shed the weight of their pasts, even if only for a moment, and allowed themselves to exist in the present.
“I don’t know what comes next,” he said, his voice quiet but certain. “But I’d like to find out. With you.”
Delphine smiled, her heart swelling with something she couldn’t quite name. There was a future, after all, just beyond the horizon. And perhaps, just perhaps, they would walk toward it together.
As the days turned into weeks, Delphine and the stranger, whom she had now learned was named Julien, grew closer in ways neither had expected. There was no grand declaration, no sweeping romantic gesture. Instead, their connection unfurled like the slow bloom of a flower, each layer revealing something deeper, something more raw. It was as if they were both learning to let go of the old wounds they had carried for so long, and in doing so, they found a place where they could finally rest.
The streets of Ans seemed to hold them, enveloping them in their old-world charm. The quiet town, with its winding alleys and rustic cafés, had become their refuge, a place where they could find solace in each other’s company. Julien, who had once been a stranger to the town, now seemed to belong there as much as Delphine did. They would meet almost every day, sometimes by the fountain, sometimes in one of the quiet cafés tucked away from the main square. And each time they met, the connection between them deepened.
But while Delphine began to find a sense of peace she hadn’t known in years, Julien was still haunted by his past. He had opened up to her about the people he had lost, the mistakes he had made, and the guilt that had followed him from one place to the next. He had been a traveler once, drifting from city to city, running from the life he had left behind. But now, standing still in Ans, surrounded by the calm beauty of the town, he found himself wrestling with the ghosts that lingered.
Delphine knew the weight of what he carried. She had seen it in his eyes, in the way he would sometimes grow distant, as though the memories of his past were too much to bear. She had asked him once, in the quiet of a late evening, what had made him leave everything behind. He had looked at her, his gaze distant and haunted, and said, “I lost someone. Someone I thought I could never live without. And when they were gone, I didn’t know how to breathe anymore.”
The pain in his voice had struck a chord deep within Delphine. She had known that kind of loss—had known it well. The ache of missing someone who was still alive, but who might as well have been a ghost. And she understood, perhaps more than anyone, how it could drive a person to run, to hide, to search for something that might fill the void.
But Delphine had learned something in her own life. She had learned that no amount of running could ever outrun the past. The past was like a shadow, always lingering, always there, no matter how far you went. And in that realization, she had stopped running. She had learned to face her fears, her regrets, her losses. It had taken time, and it had taken courage, but she had finally found a kind of peace. And she hoped—she desperately hoped—that Julien could find the same peace within himself.
One autumn evening, as the golden light of the setting sun filtered through the trees in Parc de la Boverie, Delphine and Julien sat on a bench together. The leaves had turned to shades of orange and red, and the air had a crispness to it that signaled the approach of winter. It was quiet, save for the distant murmur of voices and the soft rustling of the trees.
Julien leaned back against the bench, his gaze fixed on the horizon, where the fading light touched the distant hills of the Belgian countryside. Delphine sat beside him, her hands folded in her lap, watching him. There was a sense of stillness about him, a tension in his shoulders that betrayed the calm he tried to project.
“Julien,” Delphine said softly, her voice carrying a weight of concern. “What is it you’re really running from?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment, as though collecting his thoughts. The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy, before he finally spoke.
“I’m not sure I can outrun it anymore,” he said quietly. “Maybe I never could. But I didn’t know how to face it. How to… live with it.”
Delphine’s heart ached for him. She could feel the weight of his words, the years of guilt and regret that had buried him under their weight. She had been there, once, standing at the edge of a past that she couldn’t let go of, afraid that if she looked back, she would be swallowed by it.
“You don’t have to face it alone,” she said, her voice steady. “I’m here. You don’t have to carry it by yourself.”
Julien turned to look at her, his green eyes searching hers as if looking for something—something he wasn’t sure he could find. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. And in that silence, Delphine could feel the unspoken bond between them, the quiet understanding that they were both broken in their own ways, but that maybe—just maybe—they could heal together.
“I don’t know if I can forgive myself,” he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know if I can ever make up for what I’ve done.”
Delphine reached out, gently placing her hand on his. The touch was warm, grounding, and as she looked at him, she knew that the road ahead would not be easy. But there was something in his eyes—something raw and vulnerable—that made her believe he could find redemption, even if he couldn’t see it yet.
“You don’t need to forgive yourself all at once,” she said softly. “You just need to start. And maybe that’s enough. For now.”
Julien looked at her, and for the first time in a long time, he let out a breath—a sound of release, as though some of the weight had been lifted, just a little.
“You’re right,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe… maybe I can start.”
As the night fell and the stars began to twinkle above the park, Delphine and Julien sat in the quiet company of one another. In the stillness, they didn’t need words. Their connection was enough. And for the first time in a long time, Delphine felt a sense of hope—a hope that, perhaps, they had both found something worth holding onto in each other.
As the days grew colder and winter began to take its hold over Ans, Delphine and Julien continued their quiet journey together. The snow came gently at first, dusting the cobblestones with a light, ethereal layer, transforming the town into a winter wonderland. The quiet streets, once busy with the hum of life, now felt like a dreamscape, a place where time slowed down and everything seemed softer, quieter.
Their meetings continued, though now there was a new rhythm to their encounters. They no longer needed to fill the silences with words. Their connection had deepened into something unspoken, a bond that felt as though it had always been there, waiting to be uncovered. Julien, once closed off and distant, now shared more with Delphine. His laughter, though rare, was something she cherished, and she had learned the subtle way his moods shifted, the way his gaze would linger on the horizon when the weight of his past threatened to pull him under.
Delphine, for her part, had become his anchor. She had long ago stopped running from her own past, from the family expectations, from the fear of a future that was unknown. She had learned to accept that life wasn’t about chasing perfection or avoiding pain—it was about facing the truth of who you were, scars and all. And in that acceptance, she had found peace. But there was still a part of her, deep inside, that feared the vulnerability that came with letting someone else in.
They had crossed a threshold, she realized one evening as they walked together under the dim glow of the street lamps. It was no longer just about sharing their pasts or comforting each other. It was about the future, about what came next. And that, for both of them, was a question that lingered in the air like the scent of snow before a storm.
“What happens now?” Julien asked quietly, his breath visible in the cold night air.
Delphine stopped walking, her boots crunching softly in the snow. She turned to face him, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that surprised her. There was something in his voice, something unsure, that made her heart ache for him once again.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But maybe it’s not about knowing. Maybe it’s about being here, now, in this moment.”
He looked at her, searching her face, as if trying to understand the depth of her words. His gaze softened, and for a moment, Delphine thought she saw something like peace in his eyes—something that hadn’t been there before.
“You’re right,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe that’s enough.”
And in that quiet, snow-covered moment, Delphine realized that they had both found something in each other—something that didn’t need to be defined, something that didn’t need to be explained. It was enough to simply be together, to walk through life side by side, without needing to have all the answers.
The night stretched on, and the snow continued to fall softly around them, covering the world in a blanket of white. In the distance, the bells of the Church of Saint Martin rang out, their sound resonating through the stillness of the night. For Delphine and Julien, it was a reminder that life, much like the seasons, would continue to unfold. There would be difficult moments, moments of doubt and fear. But there would also be moments like this—quiet, unspoken moments of connection—that made everything worth it.
And as they walked on through the snow, hand in hand, the world around them felt, for the first time in a long time, full of possibilities.
Leave a Reply