Robin walled down the narrow cobblestone path . He saw villagers doing verious activities. Some tending their field some preparing their boat for fishing trip.

Finally, Robin reached the house. It stood at the end of the lane, partly hidden by overgrown bushes and a pair of ancient oak trees. The stone walls were weathered, the roof tiles slightly askew, but it was still the house he remembered from his childhood—a place of warmth and stories, now tinged with the sadness of loss.

He pushed open the creaking gate and walked up the path, pausing at the front door. For a moment, he hesitated, the weight of his mother’s memory pressing down on him. But then he took a deep breath and turned the key in the lock.

The door swung open, revealing the dim interior. The air was cool and slightly musty, but the familiar layout of the rooms came rushing back to him. The living room, with its stone fireplace and worn, comfortable furniture; the kitchen, where his grandmother had baked endless batches of cookies; the narrow staircase leading up to the bedrooms.

As Robin stepped inside, he felt a connection to this place, stronger than he had expected. The house had stood here for generations, weathering storms, sheltering his family, and now, it was his to care for.

He could still hear the echoes of his grandparents' voices in the walls, the laughter of his mother as a child, and even his own younger self, running through the rooms with boundless energy. It was a place filled with memories, both joyful and bittersweet.

Robin walked through the house, taking in the details—the faded wallpaper, the creaky floorboards, the way the light filtered through the curtains.some roof tiles are missing,the garage is almost destroyed.

In the backyard there is a half rusted fishing boat. By the looks of it its beyond fix. He have to leave the boat to be.

It needed work, that much was clear. But as he stood in the doorway, looking out at the overgrown garden beyond, he felt something shift within him.

Maybe this was where he was meant to be, at least for now. To rebuild, to reconnect with his roots, and to honor the memory of those who had come before him.

Stolen story; please report.

With a determined breath, Robin rolled up his sleeves. There was much to be done, but he was ready to start.

As the days passed, Robin worked tirelessly alongside the villagers. They repaired the broken shutters, painted the walls, and cleared the overgrown bushes that had swallowed the once-beautiful garden.he sold the half destroyed boat to a village fisherman.He could make better use of it.You can't keep all the memories even if you want to.The house began to come alive again, and with each nail hammered Robin felt a piece of his heart heal.

It took six days to patch the house up. Thanks to the help of the village people the work was done before the due date.

It's been four years since he came here.

Last time he was here for his grandfather's funeral. The house is the same as it was before the difference is there are no people.

In that moment, he knew that his decision to return had been the right one. The house was more than just a building; it was a symbol of his family, a place where memories were cherished and where new ones would be made.Robin smiled to himself as he watched the sunset paint the sky in shades of orange and pink

Robin smiled as he watched the stars appear in the evening sky. He knew that he would never truly leave this place again. The house had called him back, and now it would keep him, grounded in the love and memories that had shaped him. Here, in this house that was once his mother's ,he had found not just a home, but after a stressful career and depression he found a future filled with hope.

Days passed in a dreamy rhythm as Robin spent his days in the village. Though everything still felt a little unbelievable to him, he thought that he was confined to some prison called an office only last week and had never imagined he would be having so much fun here at his grandfather's house.

Energized and full of life, the creaking of the wooden floor softly beneath his feet as he moved from room to room; on either side of the windows, he could spot the beach with its serene beauty and the formidable mountain upwards.

Robin being an early riser, would get up at the break of dawn. He walked along the shore, feeling the soft sand in his feet, the cool breeze whipping through his hair. Sometimes, he would stop and talk to fishermen preparing their boats for the day's catch; friendly people with weathered faces and stories from the sea. They would tell him about the best places to fish, local legends of the mountain, and tales of shipwrecks long ago. In return, robin would tell the story about city life, celebrity gossip etc.

Afternoons were spent meandering through the village or up mountain trails. The climb was steep, but the view was mesmerizing. he could see the whole village below, the endless blue of the ocean stretching beyond, and the gold strip of beach where locals and tourists alike spent their days. As he hiked, pine filled the air and the sound of birds was a symphony.

He would stop at the small village shops for fresh bread or fruit and would greet the shop owners. They were somewhat curious about him-a newcomer staying in the old abandon house but never asked too many questions. Some even remembered his grandfather, talking fondly of him.

The nights were quiet. Robin would sat on the porch and watched the sunset-a warm orange glow across the water. The mountain behind him would cast shadows over the village. Sometimes he would join villagers at the local pub for a drink; it was there that he listened to more stories-this time about the village itself, its traditions passed through generations. He found himself growing attached to the simple life here, far from the fast pace he had left.

When night-time fell and the sky was a sea of stars, he would come back to his grandfather's house and allowed the soft hum of the sea to be the background song to his last thoughts of the day. He felt a little more at peace every day, as if the village was, finally, settling into him. it's feel like a dream. Even if it's a dream he never wants it to end.