Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 31355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
As I walked, I passed by a small traveling show. The laughter and music pulled me in, and I found myself standing at the edge of the crowd, watching. The performers were good, their acts polished and engaging, but they lacked the raw, untamed energy of Dante’s circus. I watched as a couple twirled on the trapeze, their movements fluid and synchronized, but my mind was elsewhere, lost in memories of the first time I saw Lila fly through the air with breathtaking grace. I stayed for a while, an observer on the fringes, before continuing my walk. The city’s vibrancy enveloped me, but I felt a strange sense of detachment. It was as if I were moving through a dream, the real world just out of reach.
Eventually, I found myself in a small, cozy coffee shop. I ordered a drink and sat by the window, watching the world outside. Couples and friends filled the tables around me, their laughter and chatter a soft backdrop to my thoughts. I sipped my coffee, the warmth a small comfort. I thought about the relationships I had formed and lost, the price of my dedication to my career. The sacrifices I had made in the name of truth and justice had not been small. They had cost me deeply, but I knew they were necessary. I watched a couple at a nearby table, their hands intertwined, their smiles genuine. A pang of longing shot through me. I missed the intimacy, the connection I had felt with Dante. But I also knew that the path I had chosen was the right one.
As I sat there, the city lights reflecting in the window, I made peace with my past. The memories of Dante and the circus would always be a part of me, a chapter in my life that had shaped who I was. But the future awaited, filled with new stories, new challenges, and perhaps, one day, new love.
Back at work, I sat at my desk, staring at the draft of my upcoming story. The newsroom buzzed with activity around me, but I felt detached, my mind drifting back to the circus and the intense, complicated emotions that lingered. The draft in front of me detailed another investigative piece, filled with hard truths and ethical dilemmas. My colleagues admired my tenacity, often praising my dedication to uncovering the truth.
“Another great story in the making, Ava,” my colleague Jake said as he passed by, a hint of admiration in his voice.
“Thanks, Jake,” I replied, forcing a smile. The weight of the ethical decisions I had to make pressed heavily on me. Each word I wrote carried the burden of responsibility and the potential consequences for the people involved. It was a constant struggle to balance my duty as a journalist with the human lives affected by my work.
As the day turned into night, the newsroom emptied out. I remained at my desk, gazing out of the large window at the city lights. The sprawling urban landscape below seemed so different from the intimate, vibrant world of the circus. I thought about the impact of my exposé on the lives of the performers and on Dante. The revelations had brought justice, but they had also torn apart a community and shattered dreams.
I walked to the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. The reflections of the city’s neon lights danced in the darkness, mirroring the turmoil inside me. I couldn’t shake the image of Dante’s face when we said our goodbyes, the mix of pain and acceptance in his eyes.
Later that night, I stood on my apartment balcony, looking out over the city. The cool breeze rustled my hair, and I wrapped my arms around myself, seeking comfort. The memories of Dante and the love we shared flooded my mind. His touch, his voice, the way he made me feel alive—it was all so vivid. Despite the pain and the loss, I knew I would make the same choices again. The truth had to come out, no matter the cost. I leaned against the railing, my thoughts drifting back to the intense chemistry between us. The nights we spent together, the stolen moments filled with passion and longing. The way his hands had felt on my skin, the electricity that sparked every time we touched. Even now, thinking about it sent a shiver down my spine.
With a heavy heart, I went back inside and sat at my desk. I opened my journal, the blank pages waiting to capture my thoughts. I began to write, the pen moving almost of its own accord. I poured out my reflections on love, duty, and the bittersweet nature of my journey. The words flowed, capturing the complexity of my emotions and the lessons I had learned. I wrote about the intense connection I had with Dante, the way he had challenged me and made me feel more alive than I ever had before. I acknowledged the pain of our parting, but also the deep respect and love that remained. Despite everything, I felt a sense of gratitude for having known him, for the way he had touched my life.