Chapter 13
The sun was just beginning to set when Julia and Amira walked to the edge of the village, where the fields ended and the wildflowers grew freely.
They had a plan.
In her grandma's notebook, Julia had once read, *"Grief needs a home. Let it grow roots, not walls."*
That sentence had stayed with her.
So today, they had brought something special.
A small sapling.
And a box of handwritten letters.
"This is the place," Julia whispered. "She used to bring me here to watch the stars."
They dug quietly, carefully, and planted the little tree under the open sky.
Each letter they had written—some to their lost loved ones, others to their younger selves—was placed gently beneath the roots.
Amira wiped her cheek and laughed softly, "This is kind of beautiful."
Julia nodded, her eyes misty but calm. "It's a memory tree. For everyone who carries something silent inside."
They stood back as the wind rustled the new leaves.
From that moment on, the tree became their secret spot. A place where anyone could leave a letter, a drawing, a poem, or even just a folded flower. By the end of the week, there were already six notes tucked in the hollow nearby.
Some were signed. Some weren't.
But every single one mattered.
At school, more students began joining the Paper Bird Club.
Even shy ones. Even the ones who never smiled.
Julia wasn't the same girl she had been weeks ago.
Her sadness hadn't disappeared—but it was no longer the only thing she carried.
Now, she carried hope too.