A few days after moving into your new home, you and Lauren decided to take a stroll around the city. It was one of those perfect afternoons—sunny with a slight breeze, the kind where you could walk for hours without realizing how far you’d gone. You were both hand-in-hand, iced coffees in the other, taking in the streets, the cafes, the parks, the local shops—everything felt so fresh, like a new beginning.

Then she saw it.

A huge wall on the side of a brick building, covered in hundreds of small, colorful notes. Some were handwritten on Post-its, some on scraps of paper, napkins, even receipts. People had drawn hearts, written poems, shared thoughts, hopes, secrets. The wall practically pulsed with energy and emotion.

“Ooh, wait—wait, babe, look at this,” Lauren said, already pulling your hand as she rushed over.

You let out a small laugh. “Lauren, we’ve been out here for hours. Can we just head back?”

But she was already reading the notes, eyes wide with curiosity and wonder. “People leave messages here. It’s like… their thoughts to the world. Some of these are so cute.”

You watched her scan the wall with a kind of innocent excitement that always made your heart soft. She reached into her purse, pulled out a pen and a small piece of paper, and crouched down against the wall.

“You’re really writing something?” you asked, amused.

“Yes,” she said without looking up. “So shut up and be patient.”

You smirked and leaned against the wall, watching her scribble something down with intense focus. Her brow furrowed, her lips pressed together, and then—after a few seconds—she stood up and stuck her note to the wall in the middle of all the others.

You glanced over, trying to sneak a look. “What’d you write?”

She smiled mischievously. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”