Young Love Shall grow

My mother always said friends don’t stay friends forever, especially childhood friends. She said people grow up, leave towns, build new lives, and slowly forget the people they once swore they could never lose. I never believed her, because in my mind, Ethan Cole and I were different. We were always together in a small town like Rosewood Grove, and I thought nothing could ever break that bond. Ethan was my first best friend, my first safe place, and the first person I ever trusted completely. We grew up in the same spaces, in the same garden behind Harper Cottage, under the same old oak tree, and most days it felt like we didn’t even need to say anything to understand each other. He was just always there, like he belonged in every part of my life. I didn’t know then that some things don’t stay forever. “Lily!” I stopped on the porch of Harper Cottage, my bags already in my hands, while rain poured down so heavily that it soaked my clothes in seconds. I didn’t move forward, and I didn’t move back either, because something in my chest already knew this moment was wrong. At the end of the long driveway, Ethan stood in the rain, completely wet, breathing hard like he had run all the way from town just to reach me in time. “Lily, don’t go!” he shouted again. Behind me, my mother opened the car door quickly, her voice firm and rushed. “Get in the car, now.” I turned slightly, confused, because nobody had explained anything to me. Everything had changed too fast, and I didn’t understand why we were leaving like this. “Why are we leaving?” I asked. “Gram is here, Ethan is here, so why now?” She didn’t answer me. She just placed her hand on my arm and pushed me gently toward the car. “Mom, please,” I said again, my voice shaking. “Tell me what is happening.” But she still said nothing. I looked back at Ethan one last time, and my eyes filled with tears I couldn’t stop. He stood there in the rain, his mouth slightly open like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He just watched me, like he was trying to memorize my face before I disappeared. The car door shut. The engine started. And we drove away. I turned quickly and looked back through the rear window, watching him get smaller and smaller until the trees finally blocked him completely from view. That was the last time I saw Ethan Cole for ten years. The first month in the city felt strange in a way I couldn’t explain. Everything was faster, louder, and emptier at the same time. I tried to adjust, I tried to act normal, but every night I still thought about Rosewood, and every morning I still checked the mail even when I told myself not to. I kept waiting for something. Maybe a letter, a call or anything but nothing came. No messages, no explanation, no goodbye. Just silence. After a while, I stopped expecting anything. When people asked where I came from, I learned how to answer without thinking too much. “Somewhere small,” I would say. Or sometimes, “It doesn’t matter.” And slowly, Rosewood became something I tried not to talk about at all. Ten years later, the phone call came. I was sitting at my kitchen counter with my laptop open when my phone rang from an unknown number. I almost didn’t pick it up, but something made me answer anyway. “Hello?” “Ms. Harper?” a man’s voice asked politely. “Yes, who is this?” “My name is Daniel Reeves. I’m calling about your grandmother’s will.” I sat up straighter immediately. “Gram Helen?” There was a short pause. “I’m sorry to inform you that your grandmother passed away three days ago.” For a moment, I didn’t speak. I just sat there, holding the phone tightly, while the words slowly settled inside my head. I knew she was old, I knew this day would come, but hearing it still felt heavy in a way I wasn’t ready for. “I see,” I said quietly. “There will be a reading of the will on Friday,” he continued. “And your grandmother left you her property.” “My property?” “The Harper Cottage, and the Rosewood Garden.” I paused. “The garden?” I repeated slowly. “Yes,” he said, “but there is a condition.” Of course there was. “You have ninety days to restore the garden,” he explained, “or it will be transferred to Margaret Ellis and the town development board.” The moment I heard her name, something inside me tightened. Margaret had always wanted that land. Even when I was younger, I remembered her talking about “development” like the garden was just wasted space. “I understand,” I said, even though I didn’t fully. After the call ended, I sat there for a long time without moving. Rosewood was the last place I ever wanted to return to, but somehow, life had brought me back to it anyway. I told myself it would be quick. Go, settle things, fix what I needed to fix, and leave again. Nothing more. The drive took six hours. The closer I got, the more I started noticing small things that hadn’t changed. The same old bakery near Main Street, the same cracked road signs, the same quiet feeling in the air like the town never really moved forward. When I finally reached Harper Cottage, I sat in the car for a moment before stepping out. The house looked worse than I remembered, with peeling paint, broken shutters, and ivy climbing almost everywhere it shouldn’t. It looked abandoned, like nobody had cared for it in a very long time. Then I walked to the garden. And stopped. The gate was half broken, weeds had taken over most of the paths, and the roses I remembered so clearly were either dead or barely alive. Everything looked forgotten. “Figures,” I said quietly to myself. Then I heard a voice behind me. “You’re gonna kill those flowers if you water them like that.” I froze immediately. I turned slowly. Ethan stood there. Older now, taller, with dirt on his hands and a watering can in one hand. But it was still him. The same eyes, the same presence, the same person I hadn’t seen in ten years. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he said it again. “Lily.” “Ethan,” I answered quietly. And just like that, everything I had spent ten years trying to