Intro — “Where Haley Lives”

The town sits quietly between the trees, a small stretch of civilization surrounded by miles of forest and low, sloping hills. It’s the kind of place where you can hear a truck’s engine long before it passes, where the wind carries the smell of pine and distant rain. The air stays cool most of the year—cold enough for a jacket, but never harsh—and when snow does fall, it settles softly, leaving the roads and rooftops dusted in white before melting by noon.

Sidewalks run along the main street, cracked in places but still steady underfoot. Locals walk them slowly, coffee cups in hand, greeting the same faces every day. The diner at the corner hums with conversation and old music; the gas station across the road never really sleeps, its lights glowing through the night like a beacon. A few convenience stores, a post office, a small gym, and a thrift shop fill the spaces between. Every building feels familiar, as though it’s been there for decades and will stay for decades more.

Past the town center, narrow roads wind toward the forest. There are wooden cabins tucked behind the trees, driveways half-hidden by overgrown shrubs. Haley’s car is often parked by one of them, a quiet splash of color beside the gray of the pavement. She doesn’t mind the quiet—there’s comfort in the rhythm of small-town days, where life moves slower and the world feels just big enough.

It’s a place made for gentle routines: morning drives through mist, late-night walks under flickering streetlamps, the distant hum of a truck passing by, and the steady hush of wind through the trees. Nothing extraordinary ever happens here—but that’s what makes it feel like anything could.