"When the Leaves Fall"

The first time Elias saw Lillian, autumn leaves danced around her like a golden halo. She was sitting on a park bench, sketchbook in hand, oblivious to the world. He almost walked past her, but something—maybe fate—made him stop.

“Beautiful day,” he said.

She looked up, her green eyes shining with a quiet sadness. “It is,” she replied, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

That was the beginning.

They spent weeks wrapped in the crisp autumn air, talking about dreams, art, and the weight of unspoken sorrows. Lillian painted with the kind of passion that made Elias believe in magic. And Elias—he made her laugh in a way that made her pain momentarily disappear.

But love is cruel when time is borrowed.

One evening, as they sat by the lake, Lillian rested her head on his shoulder. “Promise me something?” she whispered.

“Anything.”

“If I ever disappear… find me in autumn.”

He didn’t understand then.

As winter crept in, Lillian grew distant. She canceled plans, ignored his calls. And then, she vanished.

He searched for her—at the park, the cafés, even the art studio she loved. But Lillian was gone, as if she had never existed.

Months passed. Spring came and went. The ache in his chest never faded.

Then, autumn returned.

One evening, Elias wandered to the park, heart heavy with longing. And there she was.

But she was different. Her skin paler, her frame frail. Her once-bright eyes held a shadow of finality.

“I told you,” she whispered, “find me in autumn.”

Tears blurred his vision. “Lillian… what happened?”

She gave him a sad smile. “I was sick, Elias. I have been for a long time. I didn’t want you to watch me fade.”

His hands trembled as he reached for her, but she shook her head. “No goodbyes. Just one last autumn.”

And so, for a few precious weeks, they loved as if time wasn’t slipping through their fingers. They walked under fiery trees, traced love notes in frost-kissed windows, and held each other beneath a sky that knew their sorrow.

But autumn doesn’t last forever.

On the first snowfall, Lillian was gone. No note. No farewell. Just the whisper of her promise lingering in the wind.

Elias never stopped looking for her. Every autumn, he sat on that same park bench, waiting. Hoping. But deep down, he knew—Lillian had become part of the season she loved, a memory carried in the wind, in the leaves, in the soft hush of a world preparing to say goodbye.

And every autumn, as the leaves fell around him, Elias whispered the only words he wished she could hear—

“I found you.”