Love, Rewritten:(A Girls’ Love Story).

Rowan's apartment was tucked above a small herbalist shop on the corner of Clover Street. It was cozy but exposed beams, potted plants hanging from copper hooks, a fireplace that flickered even when the air wasn't cold. Elara had been here before, once, in a different version of their lives. That memory rose faintly now like a ghost pressing at the edge of her vision.

She stepped inside slowly, taking in the scent of rosemary and old books.

Rowan shut the door gently behind her. "Tea?"

Elara nodded. "Always."

They moved like dancers caught between steps familiar yet cautious. Rowan moved through the kitchen with ease, and Elara watched her from the couch, heart tight with longing and fear. She hadn't planned to fall back into Rowan's orbit so easily. But the closer they got, the more cracks began forming in the spell she had cast on herself.

Over warm mugs of herbal tea, they sat on the floor, legs crossed, knees nearly touching.

Rowan finally broke the silence. "I know something happened. To my memory. To yours. I don't know how or why but I feel it. Like missing pages in a book I've read a hundred times."

Elara stared into her mug. "You're not wrong."

Rowan waited.

"I used magic," Elara confessed. "To forget you. To erase everything we were."

Rowan's breath caught. "Why?"

Elara's voice shook. "Because it hurt too much to remember. Because I thought it would make the grief easier. Because I was selfish."

Rowan didn't speak for a long time.

When she did, her voice was raw. "And now?"

"I don't want to forget anymore," Elara whispered.

The silence between them pulsed like a heartbeat.

Rowan reached out and touched Elara's cheek. "Then let's remember together."

They sat side by side on the floor with Elara's journal open between them. The magic pen lay nearby, still and gleaming.

"Try writing," Rowan said gently.

Elara hesitated. Then she picked up the pen.

The moment the nib touched paper, the air shimmered.

Her hand moved quickly, words pouring out faster than she could think:

> We met in a storm. Not a real one, an emotional one. She spilled coffee on my book. I told her she owed me a new heart.

Rowan laughed softly. "I remember that. Vaguely."

Elara smiled through tears. "It's coming back."

They kept writing—memories leaking back one by one. The bookstore date, the first kiss on the fire escape, the fight under the lilac tree, the night Rowan stayed up all night reading Elara's favorite book just to understand her better.

Piece by piece, the spell cracked.

But then something strange happened.

The pen jerked.

A message appeared, in handwriting neither of them recognized:

> You tampered with what was sacred. Magic demands balance.

Elara froze.

Rowan looked at her, pale. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Elara whispered. "But I think it's not over."

That night, Rowan stayed.

They didn't kiss. Didn't touch. They simply lay on opposite ends of the couch, too close and yet not close enough, surrounded by memories and magic.

Elara couldn't sleep.

She woke just before dawn to find the journal open again. Another message had been written:

> Love rewritten is not love erased. But it comes with a cost.

She stared at the words for a long time.

Then, quietly, she whispered, "What do I have to give back?"

No answer came.

But the pen pulsed once in the dark.

And Elara knew: remembering was just the beginning.