357 GOOD OLD TIMES

In the soft light of a cold Sunday evening, Luke and Isabella found themselves well-rested in a fortress of pillows on their spacious, king-sized bed, which sat proudly in the center of their warmly decorated bedroom. The walls, painted in a soothing shade of sage green, were adorned with framed memories and artwork that whispered gentle tales of love and family. A large oak dresser stood against the wall opposite the bed. Its surface was home to various family photos in different states of laughter and embrace. The room seemed imbued with tranquility, a safe harbor from their troubles. It reflected the warmth and love they had built over the years. As they leaned back against the towering stack of pillows, a soft breeze came in through the slightly opened window, carrying a faint, nostalgic scent of blooming jasmine from the garden below. Dozens of photo albums and loose photographs littered the bed. It was quite a spectacle, a visual chronicle of their lives together. Luke picked u