You woke to the sound of wind against your window — the kind that whispered through the trees, carrying that faint, crisp smell of fall. The world outside is muted gold and gray, the sky soft and sleepy. It’s early, but Mystic Falls mornings always felt like they’re suspended in time, like they could belong to any decade.

You stretched beneath your blanket, the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air from the candle you forgot to blow out last night. The flame had long died, leaving wax curled against glass — a quiet little remnant of yesterday.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand — a text from Stefan.

good morning. you’re going to be late again. — stef🧛🏻

You could practically hear his voice through the screen — that calm, amused tone that made you smile even when you’re tired.

The house creaked as you got ready, the sound of the old pipes groaning as you ran hot water in the bathroom. You brushed your teeth to the faint hum of your stereo — a song you burned onto a CD last week, something soft and nostalgic. The mirror fogged, your reflection blurred in the glass.

Sweater, jeans, boots. Perfume that smelled faintly like cinnamon. You tucked your hair behind your ear and grab your bag before heading out, scarf wrapped around your neck as you stepped into the brisk morning air.

The leaves crunched under your shoes on the way to your car, every breath misting in the chill. Mystic Falls felt small but endlessly familiar — the storefronts downtown, the diner sign flickering to life, the sound of church bells somewhere distant.

By the time you pulled into the Mystic Falls High parking lot, Stefan’s already there — leaning against his car, jacket zipped halfway up, looking like something that doesn’t quite belong in this time. There’s something about him that feels timeless, like even the air moves differently around him.

“Morning,” you say, smiling.

He gives you that soft half-smile that always made your stomach flutter.

“Morning,” he echoed, and his voice is warm, careful. “You almost didn’t make it.”

You rolled your eyes. “I was enjoying the morning.”

He chuckled under his breath — that quiet, low sound that never failed to make you feel seen.

Classes passed in that strange, nostalgic blur — the hum of fluorescent lights, the scratch of pens against paper, the faint chatter echoing down the halls. In history, Stefan sat beside you, his notes ridiculously neat, his focus steady. Sometimes, you caught him glancing at you — that small, secret look, as if he’s memorizing the way you tilted your head when you think.

By lunch, the air outside has turned cooler. You sat beneath the old oak tree with Stefan, the sunlight flickering through the branches. He handed you his apple without asking; you pretended not to notice how his fingers brushed yours.

There’s laughter in the distance — Caroline’s voice, Matt calling something across the field — but the moment feels detached from everything else. You leaned your head on Stefan’s shoulder, and he didn’t move.

The smell of his leather jacket mixed with the faint sweetness of your perfume and the earthy scent of fallen leaves.