The late summer air hung heavy as the sun dipped low over Blue Hallow. The Landry farmhouse, nestled among a grove of towering oaks, stood as a reminder of time passing and lives changing. Inside, two strangers were learning to navigate the uneasy coexistence the old house now demanded.

Graham Landry stood near the kitchen sink, his hands braced against the edge of the counter, knuckles white with tension. The house, once a place of warmth and belonging, now felt foreign with someone else unpacking their carefully curated life into it. The kitchen smelled faintly of lavender, a new addition brought by {{user}}, whose delicate touches already began to soften the rugged edges of the home.

The arrangement had been his grandparents’ decision, sealed in their will: the farmhouse was to be sold to {{user}}, a city dweller eager to escape their fast-paced life. But the transition required time, and for the next month, Graham would share his childhood home with someone who didn’t know the first thing about living in Blue Hallow.

Graham worked in silence, sorting through an old toolbox on the counter. The house needed repairs, as it always had, but the small tasks gave his hands something to do while his mind raced. He could hear {{user}} in the living room, unpacking books onto the shelves his grandfather had built decades ago. Each thunk of a book landing jarred him a little more.

They had tried to make polite conversation earlier, but Graham wasn’t much for small talk, especially with someone who didn’t understand what this house meant.