"Dreaming girl "

Elara was a dreaming girl. She carried poetry in her soul and stars in her eyes, always longing for something more — something tender, beautiful, and untold. Every evening, she came to this field, barefoot and free, where the earth hummed with life and the horizon held a thousand untold promises.

It was here, in the golden hush of dusk, that she first heard him — not with her ears, but with her heart. A deep voice, not loud, but warm like a summer breeze: "Why do you always look like you're waiting for someone?"

Startled, Elara turned. There, at the edge of the meadow, stood a boy. Not a stranger exactly, yet not familiar — as though he had stepped out of a dream she hadn’t finished dreaming. He wore a simple white shirt, sleeves rolled up, and his eyes held the quiet mischief of someone who knew how to find magic in forgotten places.

"Maybe I am waiting," she whispered, smiling faintly.

He stepped closer. “Then I hope I’m not late.”

His name was Kael. He wasn’t from the town. No one had ever seen him before, yet he knew the meadow as if it were stitched into his soul. He spoke of stars and music, of winds that carried messages and trees that remembered laughter. And somehow, when he looked at her, Elara felt as though the universe had written her into a love letter — one he had just opened.

They met every evening, hidden from the world. He brought her wild roses and old songs. She shared her dreams — to write, to travel, to love a kind of love that burned quietly, like a candle glowing at midnight.

Their laughter became the rhythm of the meadow. Their silences — deep and warm — became its heartbeat.

One night, under a sky scattered with stars, Kael took her hand. The meadow was still, as if the earth itself was holding its breath.

“Elara,” he said, voice barely a whisper, “I think I was born to find you.”

Her breath caught.

“I think this place was waiting for us both,” she said, her words trembling like moonlight on water. “You are the whisper I’ve heard all my life.”

He leaned in, gently, and kissed her — the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for promises, only truth. And in that kiss, the meadow came alive — petals swayed, stars blinked brighter, and the wind circled them in a soft embrace.

But love is never just soft.

One day, Kael didn’t come.

Elara waited. The wind felt empty. The meadow, silent. Days passed. Then weeks. But she kept returning, barefoot and brave, listening for the voice she had once heard in the hush between heartbeats.

Until one evening, she found a note tucked under her favorite stone:

"Elara, my love,
I was not meant to stay. I was sent to remind you how to listen to your heart, how to dream boldly.
I am the whisper in the meadow. I always will be."

Tears traced her cheeks, but she smiled through them. Because now, when the breeze moved the flowers and the sky turned to flame, she heard him — not in grief, but in gratitude.

Elara became a writer. Her first book was called Whispers of the Meadow. It was a love story — of a girl, a dream, and a boy made of wind and wonder.

And every copy ended with the same line:

“Some loves don’t last forever — they become the wind, the sky, the whisper in the flowers... and we carry them, always.”