𝙡 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙮 𝙗𝙚.
•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈•
In a corner of the garden nearly swallowed by darkness, the faint glow of a lamp seemed to fight against the silence. A woman sat motionless on a wooden chair, its surface worn and cracked by the passage of time.
In her lap, she clutched a bouquet of roses tightly, as if fearing their petals would be carried off by the night breeze. There was something strange in her gaze—a long, frozen anticipation. Those roses were proof of a promise, or perhaps, remnants of a memory she was unwilling to let slip away.
The gentle night wind stirred strands of her long black hair, contrasting with the white shirt and black pants she wore. Beneath the dim garden lights, her pale skin looked even colder, as if it had merged with the night air itself.
Her brown eyes lifted, fixed on the moon shining with bright silver light. Still holding the roses firmly in her lap, her pink lips began to move, murmuring verse after verse in a low tone—a soft hum understood only by the silence of the night.
Once more, the wind howled fiercely, snatching at and tangling her black hair into a messy knot. Yet the woman remained still, as if the storm before her were no more than a light gust.
Without warning, a flash of bluish-white light split the sky, momentarily blinding her. A split second later, a deafening clap of thunder rumbled through the air, shaking the ground beneath her feet.
Boom!
The sound seemed to shatter the sky. The moon, once crowned in silver light, was slowly consumed by clusters of black clouds creeping in like spilled ink. Total darkness began to engulf the garden.
Even so, the woman on the weathered wooden chair did not move. She showed no sign of leaving, as if the menacing storm were merely a trivial nuisance to her already tempest-tossed soul.
Then, a cold drop of water landed right on the tip of her cheek. A drop that felt like the start of the sky's unbearable tears.
Silence fell again, creating a tense stillness. The woman slowly closed her eyes, still facing the moon now swallowed by black clouds—as if they were whispering among themselves, discussing the fate that would unfold that night.
Drop by drop, more water fell on her face. Soon enough, the sky opened up. Heavy rain poured down on her fragile frame, yet she stayed motionless. Her eyes remained tightly shut beneath the raging storm and lightning flashes that split the darkness. The rain fell so hard, as if the universe was not just wetting the earth, but weeping alongside her for something unbearably painful.
From the branches of a shady tree not far off, an owl let out a soft screech before flying off to find shelter from the raging storm. On the soaked wooden chair, the woman bent forward. She took a deep breath, then exhaled sharply—a sigh heavy with the burden in her chest.
Slowly, she opened her eyes and stood up. "You didn't come, Geo," she whispered softly, her voice almost drowned out by the rush of rain.
She looked up once more. The moon was no longer her companion; only the darkness of black clouds and the threat of lightning remained. When she looked down, her brown eyes held nothing but a vacant, empty stare. With heavy steps, she began to move, walking away from the garden now completely submerged in the sky's tears.
After the woman left, it was as if nature itself was stunned. The trees swayed violently, the once-dim garden lights grew fainter still, nearly extinguished and swallowed by darkness. The loud croaking of frogs began to break the post-storm silence, filling the garden's stillness.
Yet the scent of the woman's rose perfume lingered faintly in the damp air—the only trace that a wounded soul had recently been there. The weathered wooden chair now stood as silent witness to a futile wait, and upon it lay a single, battered red rose, left alone to endure the downpour.