The Rose Garden Letter

The soft scent of roses hung in the air as Eliza wandered through the garden, her fingertips grazing the dew-kissed petals. This was her sanctuary, a place where time seemed to pause, and the chaos of the world faded into whispers carried by the breeze.

She paused by the fountain, a mossy structure surrounded by blooms of every color, and retrieved the book she had tucked under her arm. But as she opened it, a folded piece of parchment slipped out, fluttering to the ground.

Curious, she picked it up and unfolded it carefully. The handwriting was neat but urgent, as if the writer had poured their thoughts onto the page in a single, unbroken moment.

“To the Keeper of the Roses,
If you’ve found this letter, then perhaps fate is not as cruel as I feared. I have walked these gardens countless times, always too afraid to speak to the woman who tends them. You seem to belong here more than the roses themselves, and yet you seem just as untouchable.
I don’t know your name, but I know the way your smile softens when you water the flowers. I know the way you hum, the tune carrying on the wind like a secret melody. I know I would like to know more, if only I had the courage to say hello.
If you wish to meet me, I’ll be here tomorrow, by the fountain, just as the sun sets. If not, I’ll leave you in peace, content to remain an admirer from afar.
Yours, A Stranger.”

Eliza’s heart fluttered as she read the words, her fingers trembling slightly. She looked around, half expecting someone to emerge from the hedges with a sheepish grin. But she was alone.

The next day, she found herself standing by the fountain as the sky melted into hues of orange and pink. She told herself she was foolish, that it was probably a joke or a note left for someone else entirely. But still, she waited.

“Excuse me,” a voice said softly behind her.

Eliza turned to see a man standing there, his hands shoved nervously into his coat pockets. His dark curls were unruly, and his eyes held a mixture of hope and apprehension.

“Are you…?” she began, holding up the letter.

He nodded, his cheeks coloring. “I didn’t mean to startle you, or… make you uncomfortable. I just—”

“You wrote this?” she interrupted, her voice gentler now.

“Yes.” He took a step closer, his gaze meeting hers. “I’ve seen you here so many times, and every time, I thought I’d say something. But you looked so at home, like you belonged to this world, and I didn’t want to intrude.”

Eliza smiled, her nerves easing at his sincerity. “You could have just said hello.”

“I know.” He laughed softly. “But I’m not great with words… unless I can write them down.”

“Well,” she said, her smile widening, “it seems you’re better than you think.”

They sat by the fountain, talking as the stars emerged one by one. What began as a letter left by chance turned into something neither of them could have imagined.