Have you ever heard a tree whisper? Not the rustling of leaves or the creak of branches, but a voice—soft, hidden, calling only to you...
....Elara had always sensed something different about the tree.
They said it had stood there for over a hundred years-older than the house, older than the town itself.
But Elara didn't care about its history. She cared about how it made her feel-watched, drawn in, like it remembered her.
Every time she stepped into the backyard, the world seemed to hush around her. The wind slowed. The birds went silent. And the tree... it watched her.
She never told anyone, but sometimes-when the sky turned soft with twilight-she heard it whisper her name.
That evening, with the sky painted in lavender and gold, Elara stood beneath its towering branches. The air was thick, humming with something unspoken.
She reached out and touched the bark, worn and warm beneath her fingertips.
"Why do you always make me feel..." she paused, closing her eyes, "...like I've forgotten something important?"
For a breath, there was silence.
Then-
"Because you have."
The voice came soft as the wind, close as her own breath.
Elara's heart stilled.
"Elara!"
Her mother's voice rang out from the kitchen window, shattering the moment.
She pulled her hand away quickly, the echo of the whisper lingering like a dream she couldn't hold onto.
That night, Elara dreamt of a school she had never seen, and yet somehow, she knew the path through its halls by heart.
Sunlight streamed through tall, old windows. Her shoes echoed on tiled floors. She wore a pale blue uniform with a ribbon tied at the collar. Laughter echoed behind her-warm, familiar. A boy's voice called out: "Wait up, Elara!"
She turned.
He had soft eyes and dark, unruly hair. His smile felt like sunlight, and the way he looked at her made her heart ache with something she didn't understand. Something lost.
She reached out to him-
And woke up with a gasp.
The morning light was pale and gray. Her room was quiet except for the ticking of the old clock on the wall. She sat up slowly, wiping sweat from her brow.
The boy's face lingered in her mind.
Without thinking, she reached for her sketchbook and began to draw.
---
Later that day, in college, Elara sat on the stone bench near the old wall, the sketchbook tucked in her bag. She hadn't said much all morning.
Ella plopped down beside her with a dramatic sigh.
"You didn't answer my texts last night. We thought you died or something."
Nia followed, chewing gum and eyeing Elara with curiosity.
"Yeah, you disappeared after class. What's going on?"
Elara forced a smile. "I just needed some quiet. That's all."
But her fingers brushed the sketchbook's edge inside her bag, and she remembered the boy's smile. The dream still felt more real than her morning coffee.
Before she could say more, three familiar voices approached.
"Elara!" Leo's voice rang out-too loud, as usual.
Billi and Henry followed, laughing.
Leo rubbed the back of his neck. "Hey, uh... we're doing a group project thing later. You in?"
Elara nodded politely. "Sure."
Henry nudged Leo. "He only asked you, you know."
Billi grinned. "Lovesick Leo strikes again."
Elara blushed slightly but smiled through it. She was used to their teasing by now.
Still, as the conversation went on around her, her thoughts drifted back to the tree. To the whisper. To the boy in her dream.
"Because you remember," it had said.
The cafeteria buzzed with its usual late-morning energy-half-empty coffee cups, shouts from across tables, and trays clattering. Elara, Ella, and Nia sat near the window, their plates barely touched as they chatted lazily.
Ella was mid-rant about a professor's confusing assignment when a sudden noise from the entrance grabbed their attention.
"Hey, calm down, man!"
A small group of students near the doorway had frozen. A guy stormed past them, clearly annoyed, followed closely by another boy trying to explain something in a half-loud argument. It wasn't serious-more bark than bite-but it was enough to turn heads.
Right behind the scene, leaning casually against a vending machine with one hand in his pocket,
stood Jack.
Cool, calm, and entirely unbothered.
He wore his uniform a little looser than the rules allowed, his sleeves rolled just right, his hair perfectly disheveled. His expression was unreadable, but the corner of his mouth curved like he was entertained.
"Wow..." Nia whispered, elbowing Ella.
"There he is. Drama follows him like perfume."
From another table, a girl practically squealed. "He's so amazing. I swear, even when he's just standing there!"
Ella snorted. "Seriously. He looks like he walked out of a magazine."
Billi, holding a tray and passing their table, called out:
"Jack! Why didn't you show up to class today?"
Jack shrugged as he strolled in their direction.
"Busy. Had something to take care of."
Nia murmured behind her cup, "Yeah, right. Probably busy entertaining his girl fan club."
Ella giggled. "Or building a throne made of love letters."
Elara laughed, leaning back in her chair. "He's very popular, after all."
Jack strolled over to their table with his usual lazy confidence, pulling out the empty chair beside Elara without asking.
"Hi, girls," he said smoothly, tossing his bag onto the floor.
Then his gaze landed on her, steady and a little playful.
"Hey, Elara."
Ella and Nia exchanged a quick look, eyebrows raised.
Elara smiled, casually sipping her drink.
"Hey, Jack."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Why aren't you attending class these days?"
Jack leaned back in his chair, stretching one arm along the backrest.
"Hmm... I guess I just needed a break from lectures about things I already know."
His eyes flicked to her again, teasing.
"Besides, class is boring when someone interesting isn't there."
Ella let out a dramatic sigh. "Ugh, he's so smooth it's dangerous."
Nia added, "We need sunglasses with how cool he thinks he is."
Elara chuckled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"You mean you skip class just to make a dramatic entrance later?"
Jack shrugged with a grin. "Something like that."
But under the playful exchange, there was something else-something quieter. Jack's gaze lingered on her a moment longer than necessary, like he wanted to say more but didn't.
Then he leaned forward, stealing a fry off Ella's tray.
"Anyway," he said, mouth full, "what did I miss today?"
Jack raised an eyebrow, mid-bite of the stolen fry.
Ella crossed her arms and leaned in.
"You missed today's lecture. It was about the upcoming exams."
She narrowed her eyes.
"And it was important, Jack."
Before Jack could respond, Billi plopped into the empty chair beside Nia, balancing his tray like a trophy.
"Don't worry, dude," Billi said, clapping Jack on the shoulder.
"I'll teach you everything. My notes are legendary."
Jack gave him a flat look. "That's exactly what worries me."
Nia rolled her eyes.
"Right. Legendary for being incomplete and half-covered in pizza stains."
Billi grinned and turned to her with a wink.
"Ah, but you noticed. That means you've been reading my notes, Nia. Secret admirer vibes?"
Nia made a face. "I'd rather fail."
The whole table laughed. Even Jack cracked a rare, real smile.
Ella chimed in, pretending to gasp.
"Careful, Nia. Billi's charm is dangerously contagious."
Elara smiled quietly, watching the banter with warmth. It felt nice-normal. Safe.
But beneath it all, the whisper of the tree still echoed faintly in her mind.
You remember...
Later, in class...
The sun filtered through the tall windows, casting long, lazy shadows across the floor. Outside, the wind stirred the leaves of the trees, their golden tips catching the light.
Elara sat near the window, her elbow propped on the desk, chin resting in her palm. Her eyes weren't on the board, or the droning lecture about 19th-century literature—they were far away, lost in memory.
The tree.
The dream.
The boy with the soft eyes.
The way his voice called her name like a song he used to sing.
"Elara."
The tree had whispered it too.
"Elara."
She blinked slowly, the world outside shimmering like a dream. The air beyond the glass felt more real than the chalk dust floating around the classroom.
"Elara."
The voice was sharper this time. Less dream. More... annoyed.
"Elara."
She turned, startled.
Her literature professor stood at the front, eyebrows raised and arms crossed. A faint smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Would you care to share with the class what's so fascinating outside the window?"
A beat of silence. Then—
"Birds," Elara blurted, sitting up straighter.
"There were birds. Fighting. Or… dancing. Hard to tell with birds."
A wave of laughter rolled through the class.
Even the professor chuckled.
"Well," he said dryly, "as long as you're studying the complex social behaviors of birds, I suppose we can excuse your lack of attention."
Jack, seated a few rows back, smirked.
"She's writing a thesis on bird warfare," he whispered to Billi, who tried (and failed) to hold in a laugh.
Elara felt her cheeks heat up. She gave a half-grin, half-grimace, and sank a little lower in her seat.
But even as the class moved on and the laughter faded, her thoughts didn't return to the lecture.
Instead, she reached down, her fingers brushing the edge of her sketchbook again.
After class...
The bell rang, and the scrape of chairs echoed through the room as students began to file out. Elara moved slowly, stuffing her books into her bag without really looking at them.
Nia slid up beside her, elbowing her gently.
"Okay, Where was your brain today?"
"Seriously," Ella added, swinging her bag over her shoulder. "You've been zoning out all morning. Don't tell me you're actually worried about bird warfare."
Elara gave a distracted smile, barely hearing them.
Just then, Jack appeared, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, that familiar cocky glint in his eyes.
"Maybe," he said smoothly, "she was thinking about me."
Nia rolled her eyes so hard it was almost audible.
Ella didn't miss a beat.
"Oh, please. She's not one of your fangirls, Jack. Try again."
Jack raised an eyebrow at her, amused. "So maybe you are?"
Ella gasped dramatically, clutching her chest.
"How dare you? I'm immune to your tragic bad boy charm. I've been vaccinated."
The class around them burst into laughter,
Billi, passing by, called out, "Someone give Ella a mic, she just ended him!"
Jack only grinned, unfazed.
"Sure, sure.
While the teasing and laughter circled around her, Elara's gaze drifted to the window again. The sun had climbed higher, but the branches of the old tree outside still swayed in that same, slow rhythm—as if breathing.
And for just a second, the world seemed to fall quiet again.
The whisper came back, soft but certain:
"Remember."
"Elara?"
Nia's voice cut in.
Elara blinked, eyes snapping back to her friends.
"What?" she asked, a little too quickly.
Ella tilted her head. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Elara lied, forcing a smile. "Just... tired."
But as they walked down the hallway together, the feeling stayed.
She wasn't tired.
She was remembering something she hadn't known she'd forgotten.
And somewhere deep inside her, something had started to stir.
Later that afternoon...
Elara pushed open the front door, her bag slipping off her shoulder.
"I'm home," she called lazily, not expecting a reply.
From the living room came the soft click-click of knitting needles. Her grandmother sat in her usual chair by the window, her fingers dancing with practiced ease as she worked on something soft and pastel-colored.
"Welcome back, lazybones," Grandma said without looking up. "You look like a ghost. Go wash your face or the mirror might get scared."
Elara snorted. "Nice to see you too, Grandma."
Her mom's voice floated in from the kitchen.
"Elara! Go freshen up—lunch is ready!"
Grandma chimed in again, not missing a beat.
"And knock on that cave-dweller's door, will you? Your brother's probably fused into his chair by now."
"Got it," Elara called, already heading upstairs.
She stepped into the bathroom and splashed her face with cold water. After a quick shower, she stood at her window, towel wrapped around her shoulders, staring once again at the old tree in the backyard.
It stood still—too still. No wind stirred its leaves, even though the others swayed gently.
Its bark caught the sunlight strangely, almost glowing, like it was waiting for her.
"Because you have," she whispered the memory of the voice to herself, heart skipping.
Shaking it off, she wrapped her hair in the towel and padded barefoot down the hallway.
She stopped outside Peter's room, heard the unmistakable pew-pew of his video game. The volume was ridiculous.
Instead of knocking gently like a normal person, she raised her foot—
THUD!
She kicked the door hard enough to make it shake.
"Hey! Lunch is ready, human noise machine!" she shouted.
From inside:
"Are you mad?! Why would you kick my door like that?!"
Elara grinned, arms crossed.
"Because if I kicked you, Mom would scold me. So I kicked the door. I imagined it was you."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Peter muttered, "You're the mad one in this house."
She shrugged. "Takes one to know one."
The door creaked open just enough for Peter's messy-haired face to peek out. "If you touched my save file, I swear"
"I don't care about your space-lizard-gun-zombie game," she said, turning. "Food. Now."
Behind her, Peter groaned like a dying robot. "Fine, fine. But I call the good chair."
Elara rolled her eyes as they both headed downstairs.
... Lunch was warm and loud, as it always was in their house. Peter argued over who got the last piece of fried chicken, Grandma told a story she'd told three times before, and Elara's mom scolded them both with half-hearted warnings and a smile she didn't bother to hide.
It felt normal. Comforting. Safe.
But beneath it all, something stirred quietly in Elara's chest. A weight she couldn't name. Like a page from a book she'd once read and forgotten. Like a memory just out of reach.
After lunch, she helped clear the table, laughter still echoing from Peter's latest attempt at sarcasm. Then she slipped away, back upstairs.
In her room, the late afternoon light poured in soft and golden. She walked slowly to the window again.
Outside, the tree stood still and solemn, bathed in light that made its bark seem almost ancient—like it had seen a thousand lives pass before it. The leaves didn't move. The shadows beneath its roots stretched long and dark.
She didn't know why she did it, but she reached out and placed her hand against the glass.
The moment her fingers touched it, a whisper brushed against her ear.
"Elara..."
Her breath caught. She spun around—nothing. Just her quiet room...