Chapter 6: A Storm in the Distance

The night stretched on in quiet harmony, the hidden garden wrapping around us like a secret kept safe from the world. But as I traced the worn carvings on the stone bench, a distant sound broke the silence—a low, rolling murmur, barely audible over the rustling leaves.

You lifted your head, eyes narrowing slightly. "Did you hear that?"

I nodded. The sky above our sanctuary was still painted in silver and indigo, the stars unwavering in their glow. But beyond the hedges, past the willow's embrace, something stirred. The air shifted—subtle at first, then undeniable. A deep breath from the earth itself.

A storm was coming.

You stood, glancing toward the garden's entrance, where the hanging willow branches swayed a little more urgently now. I followed your gaze. The once still roses trembled, their petals catching in the growing wind. It was strange—this storm, this sudden change—it felt like a whisper of something we couldn't yet understand.

"We should go inside," I murmured.

But you hesitated.

Your fingers grazed the stone bench one last time before you turned to me, an unreadable emotion flickering in your gaze. "Have you ever wondered," you asked softly, "if storms carry stories with them?"

I frowned slightly, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

You exhaled, tilting your head as if listening for something beyond the wind. "Like... the wind carries pieces of places it's touched before. Raindrops fall where they've never been but have seen the world from the sky. Every storm is full of echoes—things lost, things waiting to be found again."

I stared at you, momentarily lost in the way your mind wove thoughts into something poetic, something almost sacred.

"Maybe," I said finally, "this one is bringing something to us."

You smiled—just barely—before reaching for my hand, fingers cold from the night air. "Or maybe," you whispered, "it's taking something away."

A shiver ran through me, though the air wasn't yet cold.

We didn't wait any longer. Together, we left the hidden garden behind, pushing through the willow's veil, stepping back into the main path. The house stood in the distance, its warm light spilling through the wooden-framed windows, waiting for us.

By the time we reached the porch, the first drop of rain kissed my cheek. You looked up, eyes catching the sky as more followed—soft, hesitant, as if testing the earth before surrendering to the downpour.

I opened the door, stepping aside so you could enter first. The moment I did, thunder rumbled—closer this time, louder. The wind howled through the trees, sweeping leaves and petals into the air like scattered pages of an unwritten story.

I lingered for a moment before closing the door behind us.

And just like that, the world outside blurred, rain streaking the windows, drowning out everything but the storm.