struckbyhart

[struckbyhart]

Lila doesn’t want to sit with the awkwardness. Or the silence. Or that nagging feeling in her chest. So she heads out into the evening, and goes to Gringle’s. The town bar. Low ceilings, sticky floors, and the kind of dim lighting that promises nobody’s paying too much attention.

But being new makes you noticeable. A glance here, a nudge there. She can feel it: the quiet curiosity of strangers who already know each other, sizing up the outsider.

Behind the bar, a bartender pauses mid-pour. Their eyes land on her and linger a little longer than she expects.

“You’re not from around here,” they say, not a question, just a statement.

Lila shrugs, trying not to let her nerves show. “That obvious, huh?”

“Only a little,” they reply, cracking a faint smile. “What’ll it be, stranger?”

“So, tell me,” the bartender says. “What are you doing in a place like Innisgreen?”

Lila shifts in her seat. She’s not exactly uncomfortable… but she’s not used to people actually talking to her. She considers lying, something easy, vague. A job. A fresh start. All technically true.

But instead, she lifts her eyes and says quietly, “I guess I was just looking for somewhere quieter.”

The bartender nods like they understand. Maybe they do.

“Innisgreen’s good at quiet,” they say. “Sometimes a little too good.”

“I’m Paka’a,” they say, sliding her drink across the counter with practiced grace.

“Lila.”

The whiskey is surprisingly smooth, rich, smoky, and warm in all the right places.

“This is really good,” she admits.

“We don’t water down anything here, especially not the good stuff.”

They study her for a moment, then add with an easy smile, “Well, Lila… welcome to Innisgreen. You stay long enough, this place starts to feel like it’s always known you.”

“Have you been here long?”

Paka’a chuckles softly. “Oh, no. I don’t live here. I need salty water to live.”

“An ocean?” she asks, the words slipping out before she can decide if they are being serious.

Paka’a’s smile deepens, but they don’t answer right away.

“Saltwater’s in the blood,” they say eventually. “Some of us just hear the tide louder than others.”

No one notices at first. She slips into a corner near the jukebox, where the light is dim and the floor is scuffed. And there, slowly, awkwardly at first, she lets herself move.

It’s not graceful. Not confident. But there’s something honest in the way her body sways to the beat.

Alcohol helps. It dulls the edges of her worry. Loosens the quiet tangle of thoughts always weighing her down. For once, she doesn’t analyze or overthink. She just… flows.

From behind the bar, Paka’a watches.

Lila blinks, stepping back. She hadn’t heard anyone approach, but suddenly, Paka’a is there. No apron, no bar towel, just… them.

“Wanna dance?”

“Oh. Wow,” she laughs, nervously, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Didn’t hear you there.”

“You looked like you were somewhere else.”

“I guess I was.”

She glances at their hand. For a second, her fingers twitch, as if they might move on their own. But they don’t.

“I’m… not really a dancing-with-other-people kind of person,” she says, trying to keep her voice light, apologetic.

A frown tugs at the corner of their mouth, gentle but real.

“How’s that?” they ask, voice quieter now. Not offended. Just… genuinely curious.

“Uh… I…” Her throat tightens. “I have to leave. Sorry.”

The night air is colder than she remembers. Or maybe that’s just the sting of social regret settling into her bones. By the time her little house comes into view, she’s made a decision.

She is never going out again. Ever.

People are confusing. And dancing? What was she even thinking?

[ previous | next | beginning ]

[struckbyhart]

He steps inside and takes it all in, the mismatched furniture, the bookshelf with more gaps than books. There’s nothing special about the place yet, but he looks around like it’s the coziest thing he’s seen in a while.

“You’ve got a good eye,” he says. “This house has… character.”

“That’s a way to put it,” she laughs, glancing around at the half-finished chaos of her living room. “I’m Lila, by the way.”

He turns back to her, still smiling, still completely at ease like he belongs in every room he walks into.

“Chaim.”

They talk. About nothing and everything. The kind of conversation that winds and drifts and loops back on itself, not because they’re trying to impress each other, but because it just… flows.

And somehow, somewhere in the middle of it all, something shifts.

They’re both feeling it. Not love. But the weightless, unfamiliar pull of something.

But eventually, the conversation starts to lose its rhythm. The pauses grow longer, the laughter a little more forced. Awkwardness creeps in like a draft beneath the door, neither of them quite sure what to say next, both suddenly aware of how unfamiliar they still are.

Lila watches as Chaim leaves. She tells herself it was just a casual visit. A neighborly thing.

But still, she can’t help the weight in her chest, that sinking little voice whispering you messed that up, didn't you?

Maybe she talked too much. Or not enough. Maybe he was just being polite. Maybe it didn’t mean anything.

It’s fine. It's fine.

It’s not like she was looking for anything anyway.

[ previous | next | beginning ]

[struckbyhart]

A quick search, a few clicks, and suddenly she’s a writer’s assistant at Walrus Books. It sounds fancier than it is, but the name alone makes her feel like she’s part of something a little bigger than herself.

It’s not a dream come true. But it’s a start.

Lila sits on the armchair, legs tucked beneath her, completely absorbed in a worn book about familiars. The house is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels earned after unpacking boxes and dusting shelves.

Then, ding-dong.

“Oh. Hi!” Lila says, her voice a little too bright, a little too fast.

The man standing at her doorstep smiles. He’s… cute. So cute. But in a way that makes her forget what she was about to say next.

“Heard a new neighbor came to town,” he says, like he’s done this a hundred times before.

Lila nods, trying not to stare. “That would be me, I guess.”

He smiles again—damn, that smile—and glances past her shoulder, like he’s trying to catch a glimpse of the life she’s still unpacking.

“Do you want to come in?” she asks before she can overthink it.

[ previous | next | beginning ]

[struckbyhart]

Chapter One: Something Still Unwritten

Lila has read about towns like this, tucked between hills, stitched together by streams and old stone. But being here is different. It feels real, solid. Heavy with a stillness that makes you feel both deeply seen and entirely invisible.

Lila isn’t running away. Not exactly. But if she had been, this would’ve been a good place to disappear.

With no more than §1,000 to her name and a house she still needs to pay off, it’s time to find the work of her dreams. Or, at the very least, a job that pays the bills.

Innisgreen doesn’t promise much. But maybe, just maybe, it offers enough.

[ next | beginning ]

[struckbyhart]

This Tumblr serves as an archive for my story, which I primarily post on Bluesky. This legacy follows the Struck by Love Challenge, with a few personal twists and changes along the way.

Content Warnings: Mostly a drama-romance story, but only suitable for 18+ due to mature themes and sexual content.

Generation One: Lila Hart

In the sleepy town of Innisgreen, where the days pass quietly and hearts heal slowly, Lila Hart is starting over. With little more than a half-furnished house and a thousand simoleons to her name, she’s not chasing love—she’s trying to remember what it feels like to belong. But sometimes, love finds you anyway… especially when you’re not looking.

Read it here.