Soul of Wanderlust

In the secluded, snow-draped village of Utherwell , the arrival of a train was an event, though they only saw one at dawn and one just before midnight. Tucked between rugged mountains and endless evergreen forests, Utherwell seemed forgotten by time. The midnight train, however, was a bridge to the outside world, bringing supplies, letters, and sometimes the rare visitor. One winter night, Utherwell’s annual Winter Festival was in full swing. The entire village gathered in the square, sharing warm cider, songs, and stories by the fire. Strings of lights glistened against the snow, and children’s laughter filled the crisp air as they sculpted snow animals and hung small lanterns along the trees. At the edge of the festival stood Rowan , a retired train conductor whose presence at the station had become part of village lore. In his younger years, he had been known as “the Conductor of Utherwell,” always ready with a smile and a story. But now, he was simply Rowan, a man who had drifted ...

Windmere Bay , a small coastal town, was famous for its sunsets. People traveled from all over to stand on the pier, watching the sky transform into a canvas of oranges, pinks, and purples. But to Ivy , the sunsets were nothing more than a reminder of a time when life felt simpler, warmer, and full of possibilities. For as long as she could remember, Ivy’s grandmother, Ruth , had been the heart of the town. She owned a quaint little souvenir shop near the beach, where she sold postcards, seashell trinkets, and colorful kites. Ruth was the kind of person who remembered everyone’s name, who would hand out extra candy to children and tell stories to tourists about  Windmere Bay ’s hidden gems. But more than anything, she was known for her postcards—beautiful, hand-painted cards that she would slip into people’s bags for free, with a small note scribbled on the back: “You are loved. Don’t forget that.” Ivy had spent most of her childhood in that shop, watching her grandmother paint the...