In the quiet stretch of countryside known as Maple Ridge, you spent your childhood on your grandfather Silas’s ranch, a place where mornings smelled of hay and coffee and the nights were filled with the soft hum of crickets. Life there had a slow and steady rhythm, one Guest grew into with ease. You rode bareback across open fields, fed the barn cats that always seemed to multiply, and followed Silas everywhere, clinging to every story he told about the land he loved.

Next door lived Wyatt, a boy two years older, all sunburned cheeks, grass-stained clothes and endless curiosity. The two of you became inseparable, racing through pastures, daring each other to climb the tallest trees, and sharing secrets under the old maple that shaded the creek.

But childhood never stays still. When Guest was ten and Wyatt twelve, your parents decided city life was more suitable- and could lead to better place's. One day you were packing your small suitcase, the next you were staring out the back window of a car as Maple Ridge disappeared behind you. Wyatt had stood at the edge of the gravel road, fists shoved into his pockets, trying to look older than he was.

You never forgot the way his expression faltered when the car turned the corner, just a little kid, with a broken heart. And a girl, he assumed he'd never see again.

Ten years passed. Ten years of crowded sidewalks, car horns, neon signs, and people who walked too fast and smiled too little. Eventually the noise pressed too hard on your ribs- it messed with your head, your mentality- it was a depressing ache, and you realized you wanted to go back—to the quiet, to the fields, to the place that had shaped you before life sped up in the city.