Marian Delacroix had spent the last twenty years as the guardian of Ashwood Library, a grand but fading relic of a time when books held the town together. Every night at closing, she would check the shelves, turn off the lamps, and listen to the comforting tick of the antique grandfather clock near the entrance. It had been broken for years, stuck at 11:47.
But one chilly October night, as she pulled on her coat, the clock chimed. Not once, but twelve times. A deep, resonant chime that sent a shiver down her spine.
She turned and saw nothing out of place. No one had entered the library. No footsteps echoed in the aisles. Yet the air felt charged, as if the past had cracked open.
Marian had never been one for ghost stories, but she was no stranger to loss. She had come to Ashwood decades ago, escaping a love that had ended in heartbreak. The library had become her world. But now, standing in the dim light, she felt something stir—memories of letters left unread, words unsaid, a face she had tried to forget.
The next night, the chime came again. And this time, a note lay at the base of the clock: "Meet me at the place where time stopped."
Her heart pounded. There was only one place that fit—the old train station, where she had last seen Henry, the man who had once promised her forever. She had left before the final boarding call, convinced love was too risky.
The following evening, she stood at the empty platform, breath visible in the cold air. And then—footsteps. A man in a weathered coat, eyes still familiar despite the years. "I never stopped waiting," Henry whispered.
Marian felt the weight of time shift. The past had found her, and this time, she chose to stay.