It started with a sketch.
Almond was sitting at her usual spot by the attic window, sketchpad on her knees, a pencil twirling between her fingers. The sun spilled across the floor like melted honey, catching in the strands of her hair. She wasn’t trying to draw anything specific—just letting her hand wander.
But when she looked down, her breath caught.
She had drawn a tree. Twisting, ancient, with stars tangled in its branches. And beneath it—two figures. One with her wild curls, the other with Glory’s crooked grin. They were reaching for each other across a river of light.
Her hands trembled.
She had seen this before.
It wasn’t in a dream. Not exactly. It was deeper. Older. A place that didn’t exist in any world she knew… and yet, her heart ached for it.
She brought the drawing to Glory that evening, meeting him once more at the orchard—where time felt like it bent around them, slowing, softening.
He stared at the image in silence.
“I know this place,” he whispered finally. “I’ve been there.”
Almond looked at him sharply. “When?”
“In a dream that didn’t feel like a dream. I was sitting beneath that tree… waiting for you.”
He touched the edge of the page, then flipped to the next one in her sketchbook.
There, he drew something. Quick, sure lines. A bridge. A clock with no hands. A door made of moonlight.
And Almond’s heart squeezed again—because she had seen those too. Not recently. But long ago, when she was just a child. Back when the dreams had first started and no one believed her.
“Glory…” she whispered. “What if this is more than memory? What if these are… pieces?”
He nodded slowly. “A map.”
They spent the next few nights chasing fragments of dreams.
They took turns writing things down—images, colors, phrases they remembered. “A room with a mirror that reflects stars, not faces.” “A city built on top of its own ruins.” “A lullaby sung in a language neither of them spoke, but both felt.”
Each night, they dreamed. Each day, they compared.
And the map began to grow.
They pinned it to the wall of Almond’s attic, lines crisscrossing, symbols sketched, places named in soft pencil where no place had names before.
As it expanded, so did their connection.
There were moments—quiet, ordinary ones—where Glory would touch her hand and she’d feel a rush of memory that wasn’t hers. A laugh they hadn’t shared yet. A kiss in the rain. A goodbye under a red moon.
And sometimes, Almond would look into his eyes and know—
This wasn’t just a first love.33Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3urCZUIOQU
It was a returning.
One evening, as they traced over the latest symbols with sleepy fingers and soft voices, Almond leaned her head against his shoulder.
“Do you think this is it?” she asked. “The life where we finally get to stay?”
Glory didn’t answer right away. He turned his head, kissed the top of hers.
“I don’t know,” he said gently. “But I’m not letting go this time.”
And neither of them noticed—33Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYsy7PYtsoQ
At the edge of the map, where the paper had been blank the night before…33Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEXegXMxQnn
A new symbol had appeared.
Drawn in ink neither of them remembered using.
A door. Slightly open. With light spilling through.
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