The city hums behind her — tall, glass-strewn towers blinking against the velvet dark. She walks in an alley, bathed in the amber glow of a streetlamp, her school bag resting on her back like a quiet burden. It’s late. The pavement is still warm. Somewhere far above, planes pass like slow-moving stars, unnoticed.
She remembers a field. A hand reaching out. Her mother’s voice carried on the warm wind of a summer night. She was smaller then — heart wide open, eyes full of wonder. The stars were closer in those days, and every evening sky felt like a promise. Fireworks lit up the horizon, and her mother’s presence made the whole world feel safe, infinite, glowing.
Now the city surrounds her like a second skin. Neon reflections ripple across the wet pavement, and the soft patter of rain becomes her only company. Beneath her transparent umbrella, she moves through the crowd as if in a world of her own — not lost, but quietly searching. Thoughts gather like mist around her, shapeless and quiet, waiting for a place to settle.
And when the world grows too loud, she leaves it. Not forever. Just enough to remember who she is.
The forest hasn’t changed. Mist curls along the roots and branches like old secrets. She follows no map. Her feet move by memory. This place, quiet and sacred, holds echoes of her beginning.