The days after Amara's departure stretched like quiet shadows across Elowen's world.
Everything still looked the same—the moss on the windowsill, the bend in the garden path, the silver kettle hissing softly on the stove—but it all felt… hollow. As if the trees themselves noticed the missing note in the melody.
She returned to her chores. Polished the mirrors in the hall. Fed the sparrows near the old stone archway. But her heart lingered on the trail through the orchard, eyes often drifting to the place where the fireflies had danced goodbye.
Still, she didn't allow herself to ache. Not out loud.
Instead, she listened.
Each morning before the others stirred, Elowen wandered into the forest with her journal and a ribbon tied loosely in her braid. She walked without maps, letting instinct and longing guide her steps.
And that's when she first heard it.
A song.
Not sung by voice, but by leaves.
It started as a whisper, barely there—like a sigh caught in the branches. Then it swelled, gentle and haunting, full of longing. A hush that wrapped around her heart and pulled her deeper into the trees.
She followed it, stepping softly over roots and fallen petals, until she reached the old willow that leaned toward the stream like it had a secret.
The air shifted.
The song grew stronger.
Elowen sat beneath the willow and listened.
And for the first time since Amara left, she cried.
Not out of despair—but from the strange, beautiful ache that only love leaves behind when it's gone but not forgotten.
She returned every day.
And every day, the leaves sang.
Sometimes high and clear, like laughter. Other times, low and slow, like mourning. But always, always, there was something of Amara in the wind. In the hush between heartbeats.
On the fifth morning, she brought her journal and began to write—not what she thought, but what she felt. Not just for Amara, but for herself.
I miss you, but I am not empty.
You left, but I did not break.
There is still music in me.
By the seventh day, the song had changed. Softer now. Brighter. Less like farewell, more like hope.
And as Elowen sat beneath the willow, she whispered to the breeze:
"Come home soon."
A single leaf floated down and landed in her lap—golden, heart-shaped, warm from the sun.
Elowen smiled.
The forest had heard her.