*Chapter 2: The Empty Chair*
The morning sun filtered through the cracked window of the small cottage, painting streaks of gold across the wooden floor. Julia sat at the edge of her bed, her notebook resting on her lap. She hadn't written a word.
She stared at the worn chair by the kitchen table—the one that had always belonged to her grandmother. It remained untouched, the same cushion, the same faded shawl draped over the backrest. Julia couldn't bring herself to move it. It felt like if she did, her grandma's memory might drift away like dust in the sunlight.
Her mother's soft footsteps echoed through the house. "Julia, breakfast," she called gently.
"I'm not hungry," Julia whispered, though loud enough to be heard.
It had been months since Grandma passed, but the silence in the house still screamed. Julia used to fill it with laughter, stories, and dreams. Now, her heart felt heavy, like she carried the whole world inside her—and not the magical one she used to write about.
At school, the other kids laughed and shared secrets. Julia stayed quiet. Her best friend, Thando, tried to talk to her, but even he was beginning to give up. She didn't blame him.
That afternoon, Julia wandered to the edge of the village, notebook in hand. She found the old tree near the stream—her secret place. The branches swayed above like arms trying to hug her. She sat and finally wrote three words:
*"I miss you."*
Then, the wind shifted… and she heard a whisper.
Not from someone, but from the world around her.
"Keep writing..."