Fireworks
Guy Fawkes Night has always been my favourite celebration.
There’s something about the scent of burning wood and smoke floating in the air all around me, the crackle of flames, and the promise of fireworks that makes the world feel so much more alive with each passing moment.
That night, five years ago, was no different, yet it was unlike any other. It remains etched in my memory as though it happened only yesterday.
The night was crisp and clear, the sky a velvet canvas waiting for the explosion of colours that would soon fill it.
I had been looking forward to this evening for weeks—a chance to break away from the monotony of routine and enjoy the simple pleasures of laughter, warmth, and spectacle.
The estate where the celebration was held was stunning—a sprawling, forgotten castle whose crumbling labyrinth of stone walls and turrets seemed to hide untold secrets of its long-lost past.
As I walked among the guests, the cool autumn air nipped at my cheeks, and my gaze drifted toward the towering bonfire.
The flames flicked high up into the air, casting a golden glow that danced across the faces of those gathered around.
The smell of burning wood mixed with the sharpness of the cold was intoxicating, a combination that always filled me with deep nostalgia.
And then, without any further hesitation, the fireworks began, shattering the darkened night sky with vibrant bursts of light and sound.
The sky exploded into the most vivid colours, each one more dazzling than the last. But it wasn’t the fireworks that caught my attention.
It was him. Lucas. He stood apart from the crowd, his silhouette outlined by the glow of the bonfire.
There was something magnetic about him, something that made my pulse quicken before our eyes even met.
And when they did, it felt like a jolt of electricity, as though an unspoken connection snapped instantly between the two of us.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away. My feet moved on their own, carrying me toward him through the bustling crowd, as if drawn by an invisible force.
When I reached him, the world seemed to narrow until only the two of us remained in the centre, everything else—everyone else—fading into the darkness.
“Enjoying the fireworks?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth, like velvet over steel.
“They’re beautiful,” I replied, but my voice faltered. I wasn’t talking about the fireworks anymore.
He smiled—a slow, knowing curve of his lips that took my breath away.
“Come,” he said softly, reaching out to take my hand.
“There’s a better view from the back of the garden.”
I followed without question. His hand in mine felt warm, but not entirely solid, as if the moment I let go, he would dissolve into the night air like smoke, leaving me to wonder if he had ever been real at all.
We slipped away from the crowd, the noise of the festivities fading as we walked through the estate’s manicured hedges.
The air here was calmer, quieter, more intimate. The fireworks continued overhead, casting fleeting bursts of light across the path.
When we reached a secluded spot, Lucas stopped. The view of the sky was breathtaking, but I found it impossible to focus on anything but him.
There was something almost otherworldly about him—his presence both here and not. The way the light from the bonfire flickered across his features, casting shadows that seemed deeper than they should be, as though he was caught between this world and another.
“There’s something about this night, isn’t there?” he said, his voice soft, yet charged with meaning.
“It feels… electric.”
“Yes,” I whispered, my heart pounding. “It’s magical.”
The space between us seemed to shrink, and before I knew it, our lips met. The kiss was unlike anything I had ever known—tender yet intense, like the world had tilted and we were the only two left standing.
His hands traced my back, pulling me closer, and I melted into him, lost in the heat of the moment.
Time ceased to exist as we sank onto the grass. His touch sparked emotions I hadn’t known I could feel.
Every caress, every kiss felt like a promise. I clung to it, letting myself be consumed by the passion that surged between us.
For a moment, there was no world beyond us. No bonfire, no fireworks—just us, wrapped in each other’s arms.
But as the fireworks began to fade and the world around us grew quieter, I felt a knot tightening in my chest.
Something was shifting in Lucas’s demeanour. His smile had softened, and his gaze seemed distant, as if he was looking past me into a world I couldn’t follow.
“Lucas,” I whispered, gripping his hand tighter.
“There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words. His fingers brushed my cheek, but his eyes told a different story.
“I was so full of dreams once,” he said softly, his eyes momentarily clouding with a faraway sadness.
“Before… all of this. I never imagined that my life—my end—would be tied to this place forever.”
He paused, tracing a hand along the edge of my wrist. “The Gunpowder Plot, they called it. But for me, it was just the beginning of this endless waiting.”
“What do you mean?” I asked confused, the thoughts of what he had said lingering in my mind like echoes of a forgotten past.
Was he really not if this world?
“Mia, there are things I can’t change. Things you can’t understand.” His voice was gentle but filled with a quiet resignation that sent a shiver down my spine.
“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice cracking, a mixture of sadness and confusion swelling inside me.
“I have to go, Mia,” he murmured, brushing his thumb against my cheek.
“No,” I whispered, my heart sinking. “Why?”
“Why can’t you stay?”
Lucas’s demeanour had completely changed. His magnetic smile had softened, and his once intense and mysterious gaze now seemed increasingly distant, as if he was looking right through me into a world I couldn’t follow.
“Mia, I’m not of this world, and I never can be—not fully anyway,” he said.
“There’s no time left, I’m so sorry…”. His smile was bittersweet.
“I wish I could stay, with all my heart, but this night… it’s all we have.”
He stood, his fingers lingering in mine for a heartbeat before slipping away. And then he was gone—swallowed by the shadows, as though he had never been there at all.
The next morning, I awoke to the soft glow of dawn filtering through my window. My mind was heavy with the memory of Lucas—his touch, his kiss, the way he had made me feel.
It seemed impossible that such a night could have been real. But when I returned to the garden, I found a letter waiting for me, tucked among the flowers where we had shared our moment.
With trembling hands, I opened it.
Dearest Mia, Last night was a gift, one I will carry with me always. But there is something you must know. I am not like the others you have met. I am bound to this place, a remnant of the past, a ghost tied to this estate.
Every year, on Guy Fawkes Night, I return to the place where I met my end, during the Gunpowder Plot.
Our time together was fleeting, but unforgettable.
Now, the choice is yours. You can walk away and cherish the memory of this one night, or you can return next year, when the fireworks light up the sky once more, and we can rekindle what we shared.
The decision is yours, but know this: you have touched my heart in ways I never thought possible.
Eternally yours,
Lucas.
I read the letter over and over, my heart aching with the weight of his words. The choice was mine, and yet, it felt like no choice at all.
As the weeks passed, I found myself counting the days until Guy Fawkes Night would come again—until the fireworks would blaze across the sky and Lucas would return to me, if only for another fleeting moment.
No matter what the future held—no matter who I might be with—I knew that nothing would change how I felt about Lucas.
I would always return, year after year, until the end of time.
THE END
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Author’s Thoughts
I love autumn nights—the cold air, the smell of woodsmoke, and fireworks lighting up faces you might never see again.
It felt like the right setting for a connection that burns brightly, then disappears.
Something magical waiting just beyond a veil. Close enough to sense, but never quite touch—until, for one night, you can.
There’s something beautiful about being remembered. About knowing someone will come back for you. But something quietly sad, too, about spending a whole year waiting for that one night.
I wanted to weave those feelings together: the joy of finding someone, the ache of letting them go, and the hope that keeps you coming back.
Would you return, year after year—or carry the memory with you and let yourself move on?
Just something to think about.