part 23 : soft thunder

The next morning, Fiona found a small

lavender bloom tucked into the page of a

book she'd left open on her cottage porch.

She paused, staring at it

A whisper of a memory.

dream.

lavender fields in a dream

She didn't smile. Not yet. But she didn't toss

it away either.

Later that week, at the market, she stopped

by a tiny local stand selling handmade tea

blends. A tag hung on one jar: "Storm

Calmer - for those who carry too much."

The vendor smiled. "Guy dropped that name

off. Said someone might need it."

She rolled her eyes-slightly amused

slightly annoyed.

Friday evening came. She didn't go to the

bookstore. But while walking through town,

the faint sound of a cello drifted through

the air again. This time, slower. Softer.

She paused under a lamppost, hidden from

view, listening

The melody was like an apology, and a wish

The next day, there was a small envelope on

her doorstep

Inside: a hand-sketched drawing of her,

standing among lavender with a wild sky

The next day, there was a small envelope on

her doorstep.

Inside: a hand-sketched drawing of her,

standing among lavender with a wild sky

above her head-drawn in charcoal.

No name. No note. Just a signature in the

corner: a tiny, stylized phoenix,

Fiona stared at it for a long time.

Then whispered to herself, "What are you

doing to me?"