Kaira took a cautious step forward, her sandals brushing over the soft moss that carpeted the garden floor. The old man stood tall, though his shoulders curved slightly with age. He wore a long, earth-toned robe, stitched with tiny leaves and vines as though nature itself had helped weave it.
"You've been waiting for me?" Kaira asked, puzzled.
He nodded. "Not just you—anyone who still has a flicker of light in them. Anyone who might still believe."
Kaira frowned. "I don't think I do."
The man's smile didn't fade. "Yet here you are."
He turned and began to walk slowly along a winding path bordered by strange glowing tulips and purple ivy. Kaira hesitated, then followed. Something about him—about this place—made her feel like her heart was being gently unraveled.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"My name is Nuru," he said, not looking back. "Caretaker of this garden. Though it's not truly mine. It belongs to all who have dared to dream."
Kaira followed silently until they reached a wide clearing in the garden. In the center stood a large tree—its bark gold like sunlight, its leaves whispering softly in a language she couldn't understand.
Nuru sat on a flat stone and gestured for her to sit across from him. "Would you like to see your first dream?"
"My dream?"
"Yes. The one you forgot."
Before she could speak, Nuru cupped his hands and gently touched the earth. A small seed shimmered into view—silver and glowing faintly.
"This," he said, "was born when you were eight. Do you remember what you dreamed then?"
Kaira stared at the seed. Suddenly, the memory came rushing back—her tiny hands building a dollhouse from clay, whispering, "One day, I'll build houses for people who don't have homes."
Her breath caught. "I thought that dream was silly."
"Many do," Nuru said. "So they bury them. But dreams have roots, child. Even when forgotten, they wait."
He pressed the seed gently into the soil. Instantly, a small bud burst forth, unfolding into a delicate flower with windows and doors—like a miniature house.
Kaira's eyes filled with tears.
"You're not broken," Nuru said gently. "You've just been silent for too long."
Kaira looked around, seeing the garden with new eyes. How many of these flowers were someone's forgotten hopes? How many of them had been hers?
"What do I do now?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Nuru smiled. "Come back. Water your dreams. Let them grow. And in time, help others remember theirs."
As she left the garden that evening, the sun dipped low behind the hills. But something in her chest glowed warm and steady.
For the first time in a long
while, Kaira didn't feel lost. She felt found.