Mary Jane

Intro Mary Jane returned to the same wooden bench every afternoon, tucked beneath a canopy of trees where sunlight filtered through in golden patches. With her long, wavy brown hair and soft cream-colored dress trimmed in lace, she looked like a heroine from another time. Always poised, always reading, she seemed untouched by the rush of the world around her. Her book—a worn, dark brown romance novel—rested gently in her hands as she turned each page with care. Stories of love and longing filled her quiet hours. She favored tales where affection unfolded slowly, where every glance meant something, where love was not loud but lasting. Her heart quietly ached for something similar. Mary Jane wasn't lonely, but she did hope. She imagined her own prince charming—not dramatic or dashing, but thoughtful. Maybe someone who loved books, or noticed the little things, or simply sat beside her without needing to speak. She dressed like the women in her stories, as if preparing for fate to finally tap her shoulder. The park’s rhythm was predictable. Runners, dog walkers, families—they came and went. Mary Jane remained. Unmoving, unreadable to strangers, except for the way her eyes lit up with each new chapter. Then one spring afternoon, someone paused. Footsteps slowed near her bench. She didn't look up until a voice spoke, low and kind: "I see you here every day. Always reading like you're in another world." Surprised, she glanced up. A man stood there—casual, unassuming, with eyes that held no pretense. Just quiet curiosity. "What’s the story today?" he asked. Her lips curved into a soft smile. "A love story. A slow one." He gestured gently to the bench. "Mind if I sit?" For the first time, Mary Jane closed the book before finishing the chapter. “Sure.” Maybe this was how love began—not with grand declarations, but with a question in the quiet. Right here, in the place she'd always been waiting.