The Bell and the Garden

The sun was just starting to rise when Adrian stepped out of the tunnel. A faint orange glow touched the tops of the trees. The forest felt quieter than usual, like it had been holding its breath all night.

He walked slowly back to the cabin, holding Eva's photo close. It didn't feel like just a picture — it felt like proof. Proof that she was alive. Proof that she still believed in him. That she still needed him.

Inside the cabin, he set the photo on the table beside the pendant and the three notes. The small message on the back played in his mind over and over:

"When the church bell rings, go to the garden behind it."

He remembered the old church in town. It hadn't been used in years. The bell tower was cracked, and the wooden doors barely hung on their hinges. But the garden behind it… that was where Eva and he used to sneak off during festivals. A hidden corner with stone benches and wildflowers.

It made sense.

She was using their memories as markers — places only he would understand.

Adrian didn't sleep. He sat by the fire until the town stirred awake. Then he walked back into the square, passing quiet streets and early risers opening their shops. A few people gave him second glances, whispers under breath. The boy who left. The one who had returned. Looking for a ghost.

The church sat at the far end of the square. Its roof was covered in moss, and ivy climbed up the cracked stone walls. A single crow sat on the broken bell tower, watching him like a judge.

He walked around the side of the building to the back.

And there it was.

The garden.

Still wild.

Still beautiful.

The old bench remained, half-covered in vines. A birdhouse hung from a nearby tree, swaying in the breeze. And under that tree, resting against the trunk, was a small wooden box.

Adrian's heart jumped.

He ran to it, knelt down, and opened it.

Inside was a notebook.

Thin. Handwritten. The cover read:

"For Adrian."

He opened it and began to read.