The stargazing hill on the outskirts of Elderglow was a forgotten place, where wildflowers tangled with the night sky’s reflection. In the summer of 2022, it was where Rowan, a twenty-year-old with ink-stained fingers and a secondhand telescope, first met Selene, the nineteen-year-old daughter of Gideon Holt, the tech mogul whose company powered the town’s economy. Rowan’s life was one of library books and odd jobs, patching together dreams under a leaky roof. Selene’s was one of glass-walled mansions and her father’s unyielding ambitions.
They met on a clear night when Rowan, adjusting his telescope to catch a glimpse of Orion, noticed Selene sketching the stars from a nearby blanket. Her pencil moved with quiet precision, her face lit by moonlight. “You’re chasing the sky,” she said, her voice soft but curious. He smiled, adjusting his cracked glasses. “Trying to borrow its light.” They talked as the stars wheeled above, her dreams of studying astronomy clashing with her father’s plans for a corporate future, his stories of constellations learned from old books warming her guarded heart.
Their meetings became a secret constellation of their own. Rowan would leave notes in a weathered tin star tucked in the hill’s tall grass, his words scrawled on library notecards. Your eyes hold more stars than the sky, Selene. She’d reply on sleek paper, her handwriting bold yet tender. You make the universe feel closer, Rowan. Gideon Holt’s reach stretched across Elderglow, his security team tracking Selene’s every move. If he knew she was meeting a dreamer with no prospects, his wrath would be swift.
They stole moments under the hill’s quiet sky, by the creek at twilight, or in the shadow of an old observatory. Love grew like a meteor’s arc—brief, bright, unstoppable. It gave Rowan courage to imagine a life beyond Elderglow, made Selene bold enough to defy her father’s empire. One night, under a meteor shower, she whispered, “Let’s go, Rowan. To a place where we can chase the stars together.” He took her hand, his heart racing. “I’ve got nothing but this telescope and me,” he said. She leaned closer, her breath warm. “That’s more than enough.”
But Elderglow’s eyes were sharp. A groundskeeper saw them by the creek, and word reached Gideon. The next night, as Rowan left a note, two men grabbed him, their words cold as the night air. “She’s out of your reach,” one hissed, leaving him bruised in the grass. Selene, confined to the Holt estate, found a note in her father’s sharp script: You will not betray this family.
Days turned to weeks. Rowan left notes nightly, his heart sinking with each unclaimed tin. Rumors swirled—Selene had been sent to a tech institute overseas, or promised to a rival CEO’s son. Rowan worked longer hours shelving books, his hands trembling, but he kept writing. Selene, you’re my north star. I’ll wait.
One starry night, a year later, Selene appeared on the hill, her eyes fierce under a borrowed hoodie. “I ran,” she whispered, clutching a small bag. “Father’s planning my future for his company.” She’d read Rowan’s notes, smuggled by a loyal driver, and they’d kept her hope alive. They held each other, the stars their only witness, and planned to catch the dawn bus to a city where they could study the sky.
At the bus stop, Rowan lit a small glow stick, its faint light a beacon in the dark. “For us,” he said, his voice steady. Selene’s fingers shook in his. But as the bus’s lights appeared, a car roared up, its doors slamming. Gideon’s men. Selene’s eyes locked on Rowan’s, desperate. “Run,” she mouthed, pushing him into the shadows. He stumbled down the hill, heart pounding, waiting for her to follow.
But the bus left without them, and Selene was gone. Days later, whispers spread: Selene had been seen at a tech gala in the city, silent beside a stranger. Some said she’d chosen her father’s world; others swore she’d been forced. Rowan searched, leaving notes in every corner of Elderglow, but no reply came. The stars felt dimmer, their light distant.
Years passed. Rowan stayed in Elderglow, fixing telescopes, building a life from scraps of hope. He never loved again, but he never stopped believing. Every summer, he’d leave a note in the tin star, its words a silent vow. Then, one clear evening, six years later, a note appeared on the hill, in Selene’s handwriting: Our stars still shine, Rowan. Keep looking up.
His breath caught, the paper trembling. Was it her? A trick of the heart? He didn’t know. But every summer, he lit a glow stick, its light a question mark against the sky, their love a mystery that glowed in the shadows.