The Lantern Road Back To You

The golden haze of late afternoon drifted across the valley as Rowan Hale stepped out of the taxi and onto the cracked pavement of Briarhill Junction. The small town was wrapped in sunlight and stillness, as if holding its breath. Rowan exhaled slowly, clutching the strap of her old weathered suitcase. Twelve years had passed since she last stood on this street, yet every storefront and crooked lamppost seemed stubbornly unchanged.

The scent of pine drifted from the hills. Wind chimes clinked gently from the porch of the old post office. It should have been comforting. But Rowan only felt the quiet ache of returning to a life she once abandoned with absolute determination.

The reason she returned was simple and painful. Her mother had died three weeks ago. The news had hit Rowan in the middle of a chaotic work meeting in the city, sending her world into a spiral. She came back to settle her mothers belongings, finalize the sale of the house, and leave again as soon as possible. Briarhill Junction held too many ghosts and one very specific memory she could not bear to face.

As Rowan stepped toward the main street, she noticed an old wooden sign leaning against a shop window. It read Lantern Road Festival Tonight. She remembered it vividly. A tradition where the town released lanterns into the river to honor wishes, dreams, or people they had lost. She had once released a lantern with him. With Corin Larke.

Her chest tightened at the name.

Rowan had loved Corin more fiercely than she ever admitted out loud. They were inseparable in high school, bound by dreams of leaving the small town behind. But on the night before she left for the city, they had argued bitterly. Corin had confessed he planned to stay in Briarhill Junction to care for his ill father. Rowan had accused him of holding her back. Corin had said she was running from more than the town. They parted in anger, and she never spoke to him again. Later she heard rumors he had left town too, but she never confirmed them. She had spent years burying the memories.

And now she was back where it all began.

Rowan crossed the street toward the Bakery of Dawn, hoping for coffee and a moment to breathe. The air inside smelled of cinnamon rolls and warm bread. A young cashier greeted her with a cheerful smile. Rowan ordered a cup of coffee, then stepped aside.

But when she turned to leave, she froze.

Corin Larke stood by the far table, sleeves rolled, hair slightly longer than she remembered, a stack of wooden lantern frames beside him. He looked older, steadier, but his eyes still held the stormy blue she once knew. He stared at her with stunned silence.

Rowan, he said finally.

She felt her pulse throb against her ribs. Corin.

The air thickened with twelve years of unsaid words. She swallowed.

I did not expect you to still be here, she said.

Corin shook his head. I did leave. For a long time. But I came back after my father passed. The town needed help keeping the festival alive. People drift away. Old things fall apart if no one holds them.

Rowan nodded awkwardly, fingers tightening around her coffee cup. I am sorry about your father.

Thank you, Corin said quietly. And I am sorry about your mother. She was a good woman.

Rowan looked down at her shoes. Loss hung between them like invisible weight.

Corin cleared his throat. You are here for the house, right?

Yes. I will finalize everything and leave in a few days.

Corin nodded slowly. Right.

Their conversation faltered. The silence felt sharp, filled with old wounds.

Rowan made a step toward the door. Well, I should go.

Corin called after her. The festival is tonight. You should come. For your mother. She used to love it.

Rowan hesitated. She remembered releasing lanterns with her mother as a child, her mother whispering wishes into the night sky. Rowan felt her throat burn. Maybe she should go. But facing the festival meant facing memories of Corin too.

I will see, she said softly before leaving the bakery.

That evening, Rowan walked toward her childhood home. The white paint was peeling, the gate creaked, and the garden had grown wild in her mothers absence. Inside, dust coated every surface. Rowan set her suitcase down and walked to the kitchen where old photographs lined the wall. She ran her fingers over a picture of her mother laughing beside her. A familiar ache pressed into her chest.

She spent hours sorting through drawers filled with letters, trinkets, and little reminders of her mothers gentle presence. In one drawer, she discovered a wooden box. Inside was a lantern frame and a note in her mothers handwriting.

Rowan, if you come home, please light a lantern for me. Let it carry what I could not say.

Tears blurred Rowans vision. She pressed the note to her chest, overwhelmed. Her mother had known she might return someday. Known she needed healing.

Maybe the festival was not optional after all.

As the sun dipped below the hills, the town slowly lit up with strings of tiny yellow bulbs hanging above the river path. Families gathered with lanterns made from thin paper and bamboo. The air hummed with excitement and nostalgia. Musicians played gentle tunes, and the river shimmered with reflected lights.

Rowan arrived hesitantly, lantern frame tucked under her arm. She stood at the edge of the crowd, unsure how to begin. The last time she stood here was with Corin. He had held her hand. He had whispered that her dreams mattered. She had broken both their hearts that night.

A voice interrupted her thoughts. Need help with that

Rowan turned. Corin stood behind her, holding a small basket filled with candles and colored paper sheets.

I can do it, Rowan said, though her hands shook slightly.

Corin watched her with unreadable eyes. The frame is old. It might need some adjustments.

He stepped closer. Rowan felt her breath catch as his fingers gently steadied the delicate bamboo. Together they attached paper panels, soft blue and gold. Their hands brushed. Rowan pulled back slightly, but Corin kept working quietly, respecting her distance.

When the lantern was complete, he handed her a small candle. Every lantern needs a wish, he said.

Rowan looked away. I do not know what to wish for.

Corin lowered his voice. Then wish for clarity. Or forgiveness. Or peace.

Rowan blinked back tears. She lit the candle.

Corin guided her toward the rivers edge. People lined up, releasing glowing lanterns that drifted across the water like floating stars. Rowan knelt by the bank and gently placed her lantern on the surface. It bobbed softly, then glided forward, growing distant and small.

Rowan whispered, Goodbye, Mom.

Corin stood beside her. His presence warmed the cold air.

They walked away from the crowd and toward a quiet wooden bridge under a canopy of lights. Rowan leaned on the railing, staring at the dark water below.

Corin asked softly, Why did you leave without saying goodbye?

Rowan breathed shakily. Because I was a coward. I was angry and confused. You said you would stay. I thought you were giving up on us. And I did not want to feel trapped.

Corin looked pained. I never planned to give up on us. I only wanted time to help my father. I thought you would understand.

I was selfish, Rowan admitted. I was scared that if I stayed for you, I would never become the person I wanted to be. But I also never realized how much leaving would break me. I just pretended it didnt.

Corin stepped closer. You hurt me, Rowan.

I know.

But I hurt myself too, Corin continued. I never fought for us the way I should have. I just let you walk away because I was afraid of saying the wrong thing. We were both young. And we both made mistakes.

Rowan looked up at him. Do you hate me?

Corin shook his head. No. I never did.

The bridge lights shimmered against his eyes. Rowan felt her heart tremble.

Corin said quietly, I tried moving on. I traveled. I worked different jobs. But no matter where I went, I kept thinking of how we ended. I kept wondering if you were happy. If you ever forgave me.

Rowan whispered, I wanted to forget you. But I could not. You stayed with me in ways I did not expect. Even when I did not want you to.

Corin exhaled slowly. Then maybe there is something still here. Or maybe we just need closure. But we should not run from the conversation anymore.

Rowan nodded. You are right.

For a long moment, they stood in silence, the river glowing below them.

Corin leaned his elbows on the railing. Are you leaving soon?

Rowan hesitated. I planned to. But now I am not sure.

Corin nodded. Do not stay because of me. Do not leave because of me. Just do what feels right this time.

Rowan studied his profile, the soft curve of his jaw, the steady calm she had once leaned on. She felt a warmth she had not felt in years. Not desperation or nostalgia. Something deeper. Something like coming home.

Over the next days, Rowan and Corin saw each other often. Sometimes by accident, other times intentionally. They walked the old roads they once shared. They visited the abandoned train station they used to explore as teenagers. They talked about their lives, their regrets, their hopes. Rowan confessed her burnout from city life. Corin admitted he sometimes felt trapped in Briarhill Junction because he feared leaving again.

Their conversations were gentle at first. Then deeper. Then necessary.

One evening, Rowan stopped by the river path alone. She sat on a bench watching the water swirl around the rocks. Corin soon approached, carrying two cups of hot cocoa.

You should not be out here alone. The nights get cold, he said.

Rowan smiled faintly. I like the quiet.

Corin sat beside her. About earlier, I want to ask something. And you can say no.

Rowan looked at him nervously.

Corin said, Would you walk the Lantern Road with me Like we used to The long way around the valley.

Rowans breath hitched. The Lantern Road was where they had shared their dreams long ago. It was where he first kissed her beneath the old iron arch.

She nodded slowly. Yes. I want to.

They began the walk. The trees whispered overhead. The path wound gently along the river and through the forest. Fireflies flickered like drifting sparks. Rowan felt her chest tighten with memories, but also with something new and hopeful.

Corin asked, What do you want now Rowan paused. I want a life that feels like mine. Not one built from fear. Not one built from running.

Corin nodded. And if that life is not here you should follow it. Even if that means leaving again.

Rowan turned to him. Do you want me to stay

Corin hesitated. Yes. But not if it hurts you. We are not who we were. And love should not be a cage. Not for either of us.

Rowan felt her heart swell painfully. She stepped closer, her voice soft. Then maybe we should stop talking about leaving and start talking about beginning.

Corins breath caught. What do you mean

Rowan met his eyes. I mean that maybe I am ready to build something new. Something real. Maybe with you. If you want that too.

Corin reached out and brushed her fingers with his. His voice trembled. I have wanted that for twelve years.

Rowan felt tears spill down her cheeks. Corin pulled her into his arms, holding her gently at first, then with the deep tenderness of someone who had waited far too long. She buried her face into his shoulder, feeling his warmth, his breath, the steady beat of his heart.

Under the arch of trees lit by fireflies, Corin kissed her. Soft at first. Then with the certainty of a man reclaiming a piece of himself he thought he had lost forever.

Their worlds shifted.

When they finally pulled back, Rowan whispered, I am scared.

Corin smiled against her forehead. So am I. But we can be scared together.

In the following weeks, Rowan postponed the sale of her mothers house. She spent her mornings clearing the garden, her afternoons helping at town events, and her evenings walking with Corin. They talked about possibilities. Maybe Rowan could open a small art studio in town. Maybe Corin could expand the festival into a yearly event that drew visitors from nearby cities. Maybe they could create a life that blended his roots and her dreams.

One night near the river, Rowan held Corins hand and said, I think I am ready to stay. Not because I am running from the city. But because I am choosing this. Choosing us.

Corin looked at her with pure warmth. Then let us build something worth staying for.

They kissed beneath the lantern lights still strung from the festival weeks earlier. The river shimmered with moonlight. And Rowan felt, for the first time since childhood, that she was exactly where she belonged.

Briarhill Junction, once a place she fled, had become the place where she rediscovered her heart. And Corin, once a memory too painful to revisit, had become a promise of a future she could trust.

The lantern road had brought her home. And this time, she was not going anywhere.